


The Idea of Us (is stronger than we are)

by Squeaky



Series: Already Where You Belong [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, BAMF Pepper Potts, Clint Needs a Hug, Gen, Horses are mentioned, Natasha Needs a Hug, Now with 100 per-cent less potential incest!, Phil Coulson Has the Patience of a Saint, Phil Coulson is a Great Dad, Protective Phil Coulson, Steve Needs a Hug, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 02:10:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3272924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeaky/pseuds/Squeaky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Retired NYPD Detective Phil Coulson has always wanted children, but that dream was on-hold until a well-placed bullet nearly ended his career -- and his life. Now recovered and living on a farm away from the city, Phil's dreams of parenthood are about to come true. </p>
<p>But hard-to-place children are hard to place for a reason, and even the most capable of brand-new dads can quickly get in over their heads...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Idea of Us (is stronger than we are)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [The Idea of Us (is stronger than we are)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7580158) by [joankindom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joankindom/pseuds/joankindom)



> This idea was inspired by [They Met in the School Councillor's Office,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3128837) by Dorkangel, even though on the surface her fic has nothing to do with this one until the very last scene. She's said that she's abandoned it, but hopefully she'll be inspired to continue... 
> 
> The title is from ['Criminals' by Groenland.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NrpkkfNQam0) It's a great song, so give it a listen if you're into alternative Canadian music. Which I know you are. 
> 
> Thanks to [ Smergrl3495](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smergrl3495/pseuds/smergrl3495) for pointing out a massive (and potentially squicky!) error. It has now been fixed. 
> 
> The amazing art for this series was created by [ Taibhrigh](http://archiveofourown.org/users/taibhrigh/pseuds/taibhrigh). You can find her livejournal with more art here: [ Coffee and Dreams.](http://taibhrigh.livejournal.com/)
> 
> As always, massive thanks to [Taste_is_Sweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/works) for her cheerleading, hand-holding and excellence in beta. This story would not exist without her.
> 
> * * *

“So when are we going to buy more horses, Mr. Coulson?” the girl asked as she expertly brushed the horse’s flank.

Phil Coulson, formerly of the NYPD, paused in his mucking out of the stall to rest his gloved hands on the top of the pitchfork handle. “I think the two I just bought are fine, Ms. Potts. And please, call me Phil.” 

She grinned up at him, her strawberry blond hair shining in the sunlight that was coming through the barn’s open doors. It was only early summer, but already he could see her freckles had multiplied, bridging across her nose and making her look even younger than her almost-fifteen years. He couldn’t help but return her smile.

“Please, call me Pepper,” she replied in the same formal tone he’d used, and then laughed as he shook his head, recognizing her teasing. He'd grown very fond of Pepper over the year that he’d been living at the farm. The Potts were his closest neighbors in this rural area of Duchess County, and she'd taken it upon herself to befriend him almost the moment he’d arrived. 

She was the reason he’d decided to actually buy horses for the stables that were on the property, and invested in building an outdoor paddock and an indoor arena for the horses as well, instead of the swimming pool he’d been originally considering. The simple reason was he liked her company, and she liked horses, so it had seemed like an easy decision. 

The more complex reason was that her mere presence in his life over the past year had made him remember some things that the death of his wife and thirty years in policing had made him forget. 

Phil really loved kids. And he had always wanted some of his own. 

He smiled to himself as he hoisted another clump of dirty hay into the wheelbarrow. He’d really enjoyed his policing career, and he knew he’d made a difference as a detective with the NYPD, but he couldn’t be sorry that he’d chosen to retire when he did. Not when it had opened up so many other opportunities. He threw another clump and grunted, wincing.

Pepper glanced at him. “How’s your shoulder?”

Phil rotated his right arm, wincing again as he felt the shoulder joint grind. The bullet he’d taken that had ended his policing career had smashed his shoulder blade, severed an artery and nearly ended his life, but he’d managed to keep nearly full use of his arm, so he supposed he couldn’t complain too much. He’d long since stopped being self-conscious of the scar, which was plainly visible with the sleeveless t-shirt he was wearing, in deference to the heat of the day. “It’s okay,” he said, “but I think I’ll be sore tomorrow.”

“You should put some ice on that,” Pepper said sagely, then turned to face him, a calculating look he’d come to recognize on her pretty features. “You know, if you hired me to care for your horses full-time, you wouldn’t need to hurt your shoulder by mucking out the stalls.” She ruined the maturity of her delivery by breaking into a wide grin, clearly pleased by her cleverness. 

He couldn’t help but laugh. “I might just do that, Ms. Potts, if you don’t charge me too much, that is.”

“Oh I’d be affordable!” she bounced in her excitement, causing the horse to whiffle and shift her weight. “And I’d be so good at it, too! I’d come over every day and muck out the stalls, and take Beauty for a ride…” She patted the horse’s neck for emphasis, “And take Ginger out on the trails, and everything!” 

Phil pretended to frown in thought. “Mucking out the stalls, trail riding and exercising both horses every day sounds like an awful lot of work for one girl,” he said with mock gravity. “I’m not sure you’d be up to it.” He was lying of course. He knew that Pepper was both dedicated and athletic enough to handle both horses just fine without his help. “And what if I bought more?” He shook his head. “There’s no way you could handle all that.”

“Well, I’ll have help,” Pepper said with total confidence and an eye-roll to show she knew he was teasing. She turned back to Beauty, moving to brush her withers. “So I could handle it, even when you get more.”

“I’m not buying more horses,” Phil said immediately. “And who says I’d help you anyway? I’m not going to help you if I’m _paying_ you. Who’d pay me?”

Pepper laughed, a light, happy sound. “Not you helping. Your kids.”

Phil froze, pitchfork balanced over the barrow. “What kids?”

“The ones you’re getting through Adoption Services,” she said. She turned to face him when he didn’t say anything. “You know, the people who came to do your home study a couple of months ago?”

He blinked. “How’d you know about that?” 

“That lady? Melinda? She found me in the barn after she talked with you and asked me, like, a _ton_ of questions.” Pepper shrugged. “She seemed nice.”

Phil blinked again. “Melinda spoke with you?” 

“Yeah,” Pepper said, “didn’t she tell you?” At Phil’s blank look she continued, “Anyway, she wanted to know if you were nice to me, and what I thought about you becoming a dad, or had ever asked me anything, you know, _inappropriate_ or stuff like that.” She shrugged again. “No big.”

He swallowed. “What did you tell her?” 

“Oh, that you’re a huge pedophile and I’m totally terrified of your horrible temper,” she said casually, then burst out laughing at Phil’s expression. 

“Just brush the horse,” Phil muttered over Pepper’s peal of laughter.

* * *

**Natasha**

The car pulled up just as Phil was putting the last pitchfork of clean hay down in Beauty’s stall. 

“Who’s that?” Pepper frowned at him, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. Her gloves left a streak of dirt across her forehead.

“I’m not sure,” Phil murmured as he propped up the pitchfork and headed out the door of the barn, Pepper on his heels. 

He recognized the black SUV right away. He removed his gloves and slid them into his back pocket before putting his hands on his hips as he waited for his unexpected guests to exit the vehicle. 

A tall man, whose face was marred by an eye-patch and a scowl got out of the drivers’ side. His long black coat swirled around his legs and came to rest almost at the ankles of his heavy black boots. His female companion excited the passenger’s side. She was a severe-looking woman with long black hair who was wearing a suit that would look more appropriate in a Manhattan boardroom rather than a Poughkeepsie farm. She immediately went to retrieve something from the back seat.

“If I’d known you were coming,” Phil said with his blandest expression, “I would’ve made cake.” 

“I would’ve preferred if you’d taken a shower, Cheese,” the man replied, scowl deepening. 

Pepper looked at him and then looked at Phil, her blue eyes wide. “You know this guy?” she whispered. 

The man closed the distance between himself and Phil in three short strides before pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. “It’s good to see you, Phil.”

“Likewise, Nick,” Phil said, returning the hug. 

“You know this guy?” Pepper repeated in her normal voice.

“This ‘guy,’” Phil said, turning to her, “is my former boss and best friend, Deputy Chief Nick Fury of the NYPD.” 

“Pleased to meet you,” Pepper said, flashing Nick one of her brightest smiles. 

“Likewise,” Nick said, regarding her gravely. “So, you must be the Virginia Potts that Phil keeps mentioning in his emails.”

“Yessir,” she said, “but my friends call me Pepper.” 

“Huh,” Nick said noncommittally. He turned towards the woman he’d travelled with, who was now standing beside him. “I think you already know Melinda.”

“Hi Melinda!” Pepper smiled and waved at her as Melinda smiled back. 

“Nice to see you again, Pepper.”

“Ms. May,” Phil said, shaking her hand. “Pleasure.”

“Phil, please,” Melinda said, smiling at him. “We’ve known each other far too long for that kind of formality.”

“You’re my case manager now,” Phil said, letting some humour show in his eyes. “I’m trying to make a good impression.” 

“You made a good impression on me years ago, when you were an investigator in the Special Victims’ Unit,” Melinda said. “That’s why we’re here.” 

“I didn’t think you’d drive all the way from New York for a social visit,” Phil said. He glanced down to the child half-hidden behind Melinda’s legs, feeling his eyes widen in surprise as he looked between Nick and the Case Manager. “So soon?”

He could practically feel Pepper bursting with excitement beside him. “ _Is that your daughter?_ ”

“She’s a special case,” Melinda said, placing her hand on the girl’s shoulder. She glanced at Nick. “Nick’ll explain.”

“Drug bust two nights ago,” Nick said without preamble. “The officers found her next to the dead body of her mother. Overdose,” he continued over Pepper’s small exclamation of shock. “Mother’s originally from Russia. No known next of kin, and we’ve had no help from the Russian authorities we’ve been able to contact.” 

Phil knelt down so he was eye level with the girl. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said quietly. 

“Thirteen years old, no family, no indication of any formal schooling, her mother using illegal substances and it’s unclear whether or not she speaks English.” Melinda shook her head. “She’s currently top of our hard-to-place list. Which is why Nick and I brought her here.” 

“And, let’s just say her mother was engaged with some rather unsavory people,” Nick added. “It seemed like a really good idea to get her out of the City.”

Melinda looked down at the girl with an expression of total sympathy and rubbed her back. “She has no one. She's totally alone.” 

Phil nodded his head even while he kept looking at the girl. When he started the process to adopt, he’d purposely requested those children that New York’s Adoption Services considered ‘hard-to-place.’ Those children who were older, or had siblings, or had behavioural issues that made them more difficult than others. Children who would need him in a way that the other, easier to adopt children, might not.

The girl moved so she could look at him, a strange combination of fear and defiance on her face. She was extraordinarily pretty, with wide green eyes, pale skin and hair tumbling in curls past her shoulders, a red almost as dark as blood. 

“She doesn’t seem to speak English,” Melinda repeated when the girl didn’t respond to Phil’s condolences. “Only Russian. Well, at least that's what we’ve been able to gather so far.” 

“Damn,” Phil swore softly. He looked up at Melinda, finding it hard to tear himself away from the girl’s steady gaze. “I don’t speak any Russian.” He shifted to look at the girl again, making his voice soft and his eyes kind, like he used to do when dealing with the children back when he worked with the SVU. “Hi,” he said, “my name’s Phil.” He touched his chest as he spoke, then gestured deliberately towards her. “What’s yours?”

The girl blinked slowly, her eyes flicking from his hand to his face, over to Pepper and then back, but remained unnervingly silent. 

Phil looked up at Melinda, who shrugged. “She wasn’t very communicative with the Russian translator we brought in, either,” she said. “But we do know her name’s Natasha.”

“Hello Natasha,” Phil said, and smiled as warmly as he could. Natasha’s expression didn’t change.

Pepper came and knelt by his side, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. The light red of Pepper’s hair contrasted strikingly with Natasha’s dark red curls, as did Pepper’s open expression with the girl’s closed, fearful one. “Hi, Natasha,” Pepper said, smiling brightly and then: “Я говорю некоторые России.”

The three adults gaped at her. “What did you say?” Nick said at the same time that Phil asked: “You speak _Russian?_ ”

“Well, yeah,” Pepper said, like it was the most natural thing in the world for young women from Poughkeepsie to speak Russian as a second language. “My Nana’s from Russia. I learned some as a kid, and they offer classes in my junior high. I figure it’ll be important for me to know when I’m head of some big multinational company.” 

Natasha was looking at her, her incredible green eyes almost as comically wide as the adults' around her at Pepper’s linguistic abilities. She burst into speech. 

“Whoa!” Pepper exclaimed in English, and then something that was apparently “slow down!” in Russian, because the girl’s rapid-fire words changed to something more normal-sounding. 

“She says, um, that she wants to know why she’s here,” Pepper said, biting her lip in concentration. “She wants to know if you’re my, um, uncle? I think she said uncle. It might have been something else. And she wants to know what Nick and Melinda want with her.” She looked over at Phil, her blue eyes suddenly full of sadness. “And she wants to know what happened to her mom.”

Phil closed his eyes for a moment, feeling almost overwhelmed with the depths of Natasha’s confusion and pain. He took a fortifying breath. “Tell her,” he started, “tell her that her mother is dead,” Phil said, “it’s probably the best place to start.”

“Okay,” Pepper said, biting her lip again as she thought through the sentence. 

“The translator did tell her that,” Melinda said softly. “We didn’t keep that from her.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Phil said, not taking his eyes off Natasha as Pepper haltingly made her way through the sentence. “But sometimes you need to hear bad news more than once to really believe it.” 

Natasha narrowed her eyes and shook her head savagely, spitting something to Pepper in Russian that didn’t sound too positive.

“She – she wants to know why she’s here,” Pepper said again. “She wants to know who you are, and if you’re anything like those men who came to see her mother.” Pepper chewed on her lip again, looking at Phil in confusion. “She used a word I don’t know when talking about the men and her mom.” 

“It’s alright, we know what she meant,” Nick said, his face even grimmer than usual. “Please tell her ‘no’ in the strongest way you can.” 

Pepper repeated Nick’s request, complete with negating hand gestures, and then continued with another string of words while she gestured at Phil and then Melinda and Nick in turn. “I told her that you’re her new dad,” Pepper said, a small, but proud smile on her lips. “That’s right, isn’t it?” she said after a moment when the adults remained silent. “I mean, that’s why you brought her here right? So Phil could be her dad?” 

Phil licked his lips. “Tell her that’s true,” he said. “And that if she wants, she can stay with me to see if we’ll get along. And tell her that I promise her – “ And here, Phil put his hand on his chest and looked deep into Natasha’s eyes, trying to convey the total sincerity of his words, “I promise her that she’ll be safe here. That no one will touch her, or try to take her, or do _anything to her_ that she doesn’t want.” Phil could feel the truth in his words as he spoke them and the fierce protectiveness that swelled in his chest while he looked at her. With sudden clarity, he realized that this girl was his _daughter._ The child he’d been waiting for all his life. “Tell her, that I swear I’ll keep her safe, or die trying.”

“I don’t think I can say all that,” Pepper said. 

Natasha was looking at him, her green eyes considering. “Do you really mean that?” she said in perfect, unaccented English.

“I swear.” Phil said. He smiled. 

And suddenly, Natasha’s arms were around his neck, the force of her hug knocking him backwards onto his ass in the dirt. 

“Do you really want to be my dad?” she whispered against his neck.

“If you’ll have me,” Phil whispered back. 

“Well, that worked better than I expected,” Melinda said, turning back towards the vehicle. “I’ll get the paperwork out of the car.” 

“Child spoke English the whole time,” Nick shook his head in admiration. “I had no idea.” 

“This is so cool!” Pepper exclaimed to no one in particular. She sat back on her bum as well, grinning at Phil as he continued to hug Natasha for all he was worth. “So,” she said after a moment, glancing back towards the big SUV as if Melinda was going to appear with another child in tow. “How many kids’re you gonna get?”

“Yes, Phil, how many children _are_ you going to get?” Melinda asked as she reappeared with a whole sheaf of paper that Phil knew he’d have to sign and then send off to his lawyer.

“I don’t know,” Phil said, moving Natasha so that she was still leaning against him, but could now see the rest of the group. “How many hard-to-place children do you have on the books?”

Melinda and Nick exchanged a glance before Melinda met his gaze, her expression totally serious. “How many do you want?”

Phil sighed. “Pepper,” he said, “I think we’re going to need to buy more horses.”

* * *

“It’s not good news, Phil.” 

Phil sighed deeply and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “How bad?”

Sam Wilson, Natasha’s counsellor, gave an eloquent shrug. “It’s not as bad as it could be, but not what I would’ve hoped for a little girl who’s just lost her mother.”

Phil was sitting in one of the huge leather chairs that Sam had in his office, located above an antique store in the quaint main street of the town closest to Phil’s farm. Natasha was sitting on the couch in the waiting room, quietly reading one of the magazines. Her profile was just visible through the crack that Phil left in the door.

“I can see that,” Phil said. “She certainly doesn’t act like she’s grieving at home.”

“She doesn’t do it here, either,” Sam said. “She chats happily about you, and Pepper and the farm, and her vegetable garden and the horses, but she never mentions her mother. Not at all.”

Sam was a tall, handsome man with a kind, open face. He’d been highly recommended by some colleagues of Melinda’s, and Natasha had always gone to her appointments willingly. Phil hadn’t asked her too much about them, wanting to respect her privacy. He had assumed that she and Sam had made a good connection. 

“I’ve got to tell you, I feel a bit stupid for being so complacent about her temperament,” Phil said. “She’s just been so easy to get along with. I guess I didn’t want to look too much into it.”

Sam shrugged again. “Makes sense to me. Who wants to go looking for trouble? But you must’ve sensed there was a problem, since you brought her here.”

“It’s because she’s _too_ good,” Phil said musingly as he looked at her through the crack of the door. “I’ve spent a lot of time with kids. First my nieces and nephews and then when I worked SVU, and I’ve never seen a child that well behaved. Not that I can remember.”

“It’s a coping mechanism,” Sam said. “Girl’s not dumb, far from it. She knows that she needs you for her bread-and-butter right now, and if she pisses you off, that security could disappear.”

“I’d never do that!” Phil protested.

“I know that,” the immediacy of Sam’s reply was comforting. “But _she_ doesn’t. For all she knows, she makes you mad once, and she’ll be done.”

“Jesus,” Phil swore softly. He looked up at Sam. “How do I help her with that?”

“With time,” Sam said. “And consistency, and by reacting calmly when she finally _does_ stop the robo-girl act and starts pushing your buttons. Oh, it’s bound to happen,” Sam continued when Phil made a face. “As soon as she starts to trust you a little bit, she’ll try to get you to hate her just to see if you will still want her around.”

Phil took a deep breath. “Forewarned is forearmed, I suppose.” He started to rise. “Well, thanks again Sam. We’ll see you—“

“Wait a sec,” Sam said. “I got something else.”

Phil sagged back down into the seat.

“Take a look at these,” Sam said, handing Phil several sheets of paper. They were all stiff with thickly-dried poster-paint that had obviously been liberally applied. The colours were all sweet blues and greens with light reds and yellows mixed in. _Summer colours,_ Phil thought. 

He looked up at Sam. “These look happy.”

“Yeah, on the surface,” Sam said. “But that’s not all there is to the picture. “Here,” he said, handing Phil another one. “Here’s one I managed to grab before she’d completely covered it over in paint.”

The picture had been drawn in heavy lines of black and red marker, showing an image of a woman lying half-naked on a bed with syringes poking into both her arms. Her mouth was open, displaying a lolling tongue, and her eyes were open as well, staring up at nothing. There was blood dripping from where the syringes were poking into the woman’s arms and more blood dripping onto the floor. The overall image was dark and grotesque and seemed to have nothing whatsoever to do with the brightly painted swirls of colour. 

Phil cleared his throat. “Natasha drew this?”

“Yep,” Sam said. “And I figure that all the other pictures probably look pretty similar underneath. The symbolism’s kind of obvious.”

“And powerful,” Phil agreed. “It’s like she’s covering up her mother’s death with sunshine and happiness.” 

“Oh yeah.” Sam nodded. “She knows her mother’s actually dead, but is pretending really, really hard that’s not the case. And she’s doing it by acting bright and happy.”

Phil took a breath, still staring at the picture. “What do I do?”

“Exactly what you’re already doing,” Sam said. “Treat her with love, give her a safe place, validate her feelings when she expresses them, and kindly but firmly call her up on her shit once it starts.”

Phil gave Sam a small smile. “I guess I can do that.”

“I’m sure you can.” Sam smiled back, then his face grew serious once again. “And one more thing? Ask her about her mother.”

“I haven’t been doing that,” Phil said. “I didn’t want to upset her.”

“I get that,” Sam said. “But Phil?” and here he gestured at the too-happy paintings. “I think the girl needs to be a little bit upset. Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Phil exhaled. “I guess you’re right.”

* * *

He and Natasha were sitting down to dinner in Phil’s kitchen, the two of them were kitty-corner to each other at the small breakfast table that the house had come with. 

They were eating in comfortable silence, Natasha’s head bent over as she inspected her plate for unwanted vegetables. Her pickiness when it came to eating was one area of normalcy that Phil actually found a bit of a relief. 

_No time like the present,_ Phil thought as he looked at Natasha. “Tell me about your mother.” 

She looked up sharply. Her extraordinary green eyes flashing with some unknown emotion. “Why are you asking?”

“Because I know she was important to you,” Phil said, trying to keep his tone conversational. “I’d like to hear about her.”

Natasha shrugged one slender shoulder and returned to picking at her food. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Well,” Phil said. “You could start with where she was born?”

“In a little town outside of Odessa,” Natasha responded like she’d heard the story a thousand times. “She left for America after my grandparents died.”

“That must have been a big trip for her,” Phil said, remembering Nick’s words that they couldn’t find any living relatives for Natasha. “Coming all this way by herself.”

Natasha flicked him a glance. “She wasn’t alone. I was in her uterus.” 

Phil had to smile at her use of the proper anatomical name and made a mental note to mention it to Jane Foster, her science teacher, next time he saw her. “I’m sure knowing you were there made a big difference.” 

“She says she came to America for me,” Natasha said, poking at a carrot with the tines of her fork. “She didn’t want me to have to grow up in Russia, the way she had.”

“Was it hard for her there?” Phil asked, genuinely interested in Natasha’s mother’s story.

“I don’t really know.” Natasha shrugged again. “She never really talks about it. She just says that some of the people weren’t really nice.”

Phil stopped mid-chew as Natasha’s replies sunk in. She had been speaking about her mother in the present tense. “Natasha,” Phil said as soon as he’d managed to swallow the bite of food down a throat gone suddenly dry. “What do you know about what happened to your mother?”

Natasha looked up at him, her head canted to one side. “Same as you.”

“And what do you think I know?” Phil said as he slowly placed down his cutlery. 

“What the police officers said when they came to our apartment. That she went to hospital with the paramedics. I’m staying with you until she gets better and comes to get me.”

Phil felt like the portion of dinner he’d eaten had just turned to ice in his stomach. “Natasha,” he said quietly, “your mother’s dead.”

She glared at him. “No she’s not.”

“She is,” Phil said. “She’s been dead for almost a month. She wasn’t taken to hospital to get better. Her body—“

Natasha slammed her fork down into the table hard enough to stick it into the wood. “Shut up.”

“I’m sorry,” Phil said, his heart breaking with what he was doing. “I’m so sorry Natasha, but she’s dead.”

" _Shut up!_ " Natasha screamed and bolted from the table, her plate and chair crashing together to the floor. A moment later he heard the door to her room slam hard enough to rattle windows.

“That went well,” Phil muttered, and went to clean up her mess.

* * *

“It’s been two days,” Phil said to Sam on the other end of the phone. “When do I start to worry?”

“Is she eating?” Sam asked, “Drinking? Is there any reason to think she might be planning on hurting herself?”

“Yes, yes and I don’t know.” Phil said. “I’ve put food outside her door, and come back in a couple of hours and the dishes are empty. She sneaks to the bathroom when she thinks I’m not around, and a couple of times I’ve seen her in the kitchen through the window when I’ve been outside, so yes she’s eating. Not a lot, but she is.”

“That’s good to hear,” Sam said. “But self-harm?”

“Unclear,” Phil said. “I mean, I don’t think so. I _hope_ not. But how would I know?”

“The fact she’s eating is a good sign,” Sam said, “and the fact that she hasn’t tried to run from the farm is a good sign as well. She obviously feels safe with you, even though she’s really angry that you told her the truth.”

“I don’t care if she’s angry with me,” Phil said, then winced, even though Sam couldn’t see it. “Okay, I _do_ care. I just want her to be okay.”

“I know you care,” Sam said. “She’s totally your priority, but it always feels better when the people we love show they love us in return.” 

Phil blinked. “You think I love her?” 

“Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Phil said, feeling the solidity of the truth of it. “Yes, I do love her. I love her a lot.”

“Just give her time,” Sam said. “It’ll be alright.”

“Okay,” Phil said. “And Sam? Thanks.”

“It’s why you pay me the big bucks, Coulson.” Sam said.

* * *

Later that evening Phil knocked on the door of her room. “Natasha? Dinner’s ready.”

“I’m not hungry!” 

“It’s great to hear your voice,” Phil said. It was a fantastic relief to hear her, even shouting in anger. “I’ve missed you.”

“Go away!” 

“I know you’re angry,” Phil said through the door. “And I can’t imagine how hard it must be to know your mother’s dead. But it’s not going to feel any better if you stay in your room. I’d like for you to come out.”

There was the sound of something heavy hitting the door, like a boot. 

Phil sighed. “I’d really like to offer you some comfort, Natasha. Will you let me in?”

“NO!” she screamed. 

“Okay,” Phil said. “I’ll just leave your dinner by the door. Okay?”

There was no answer.

* * *

Phil tried again the next morning.

“I made pancakes.” 

“I hate pancakes!” Natasha shouted. There was the sound of something hitting the door and then bouncing off, and then the sound of it hitting the door again. 

“They’re chocolate chip. Your favourite.”

“I hate pancakes! And I hate _you!_ ”

“I’ll just leave them by the door.” He put the tray down.

* * *

He left a sandwich and some fruit by her door at lunch and drove into town to clear his head. He ended up at the local grocery store where he found himself putting all of Natasha’s favourite foods into his cart. There was a cute stuffed horse in the toy section, and he put that in the cart, too. 

“You can’t bribe her out of her grief,” Phil muttered to himself, but he bought the horse anyway.

* * *

Phil knocked on the door again. “It’s been three days, Natasha. I really think it’s time to come out.” He fiddled with the stuffed horse in his hands.

There was only silence from the other side of the door. 

“You are in so much pain right now,” Phil said. “You’re probably feeling so much pain and anger knowing that your mother died and left you all alone.” He felt his throat tighten on the last syllables. He knew what that felt like.

Pushing the used lunch tray aside with his foot he sagged down until his back was to the door. “I never told you this,” he said, “but I used to be married.” He swallowed, astounded that so many years later thinking about Audrey still caused such a rush of pain. “She was an amazing woman. Beautiful, talented… She used to play Cello for the Maryland Symphony Orchestra.”

There was a small sound on the other side of the door, like a thirteen-year-old girl had moved to lean against it. 

“I couldn’t believe that a woman like that would even bother looking at a dumb beat cop like me,” Phil continued. He couldn’t help but smile at the memory of their first date and how nervous he was. “But she did. It was the happiest day of my life when we got married.”

There was another small sound, and then Natasha’s voice. “What happened?”

“Cancer,” Phil said simply. “We’d been married for three years and we’d started talking about having kids. She was so excited at the idea of being a mom. She went to the doctor for a check-up to make sure everything was okay for her to get pregnant, and that’s when they found it.” He wiped a tear from his face, remembering the agony of that diagnosis. “She fought it really hard, but it was too strong. She was dead two years later.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Every day,” Phil said through the door. “Even though she’s been dead for over twenty years, I miss her every day.”

Phil felt the door shift behind him, and he turned to face it as it cracked open. Natasha was standing on the other side, only a small portion of her visible through the narrow gap she’d made with the door. She looked pale and drawn, and there were dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes. “I miss my mother,” she whispered. 

“I know you do, baby,” Phil said. He held out his arms. “Come here.”

“Okay,” she nodded, and opened the door to come sit with him on the floor. He put the stuffed horse in her lap, wrapped his arms around her and hugged her to his chest, holding her as she cried. 

“My mother’s dead.” Natasha sobbed, hugging the horse. “My mother’s dead and I’m all alone.”

“No, you’re not,” Phil said fiercely. “You’re not alone. I’m here. I’m here and I will never leave you.” He hugged her tighter, rocking her in his arms like she were a much younger child. 

She cried against his chest, her whole body shaking with the power of her anger and her grief. Phil just held her and let her cry.

* * *

**Clint**

Phil sat slouched down in the uncomfortable chair, chin propped on his hand, staring at the unconscious form in the hospital bed in front of him. 

Melinda came in and stood behind him. She put her purse down on the floor and placed her hand comfortingly on his shoulder. 

He glanced up at her and then turned his attention back to the bed. “Did the doctors tell you anything?” 

“Just that the surgery went well and, barring complications, he should make a full recovery.” 

“That’s good news.”

She exhaled noisily. “Yes.”

Phil looked up at her again. “You don’t sound like its good news.”

“He was beaten severely enough to lacerate his liver and rupture his spleen, Phil.” Melinda’s voice was tight. “They stamped on his chest hard enough to crack ribs, and it’s a miracle that the monsters that did this to him didn’t break his skull. Maybe I’m just too damn angry to find any of this good.”

He reached up and covered her hand with his own, giving it a little squeeze. “You and me both.” 

“He’s barely fifteen,” Melinda continued, “and he was beaten nearly to death by people that he knew. One being his own brother.” She shook her head. “Unbelievable.” 

“He hasn’t had it easy, has he?” Phil's smile was slight. “I almost couldn’t believe his file when I read it.” 

“I know,” Melinda’s lips flicked up in the barest hint of a smile. “Who actually grows up in a circus?”

“Boys who end up expert marksmen and trick-riders before they’re sixteen years old, apparently,” Phil said. He gestured at one of the other chairs. “Want to sit down?”

She shook her head. “I’m too angry to sit.”

Phil huffed a small laugh. “That’s the Melinda I remember.”

She laughed lightly. “It’s amazing I’ve lasted as long as I have.” 

“It’s because you really care about these kids,” Phil replied. “It keeps you going.” 

“Look who’s talking, Mister ‘hard-to-place adoptions’.” she poked him in the shoulder. “How is Natasha doing, anyway?”

“So great.” Phil couldn’t contain his smile. “She’s working really well with the teachers I’ve hired and she helps out on the farm all the time. Did you know that it was her idea to make the vegetable garden by the side of the house? I didn’t think it would work, since she started it in July, but she’s got such a green thumb. She planted so much stuff in it, even though I know she doesn’t really like vegetables and probably won’t eat half of the stuff that we froze—“

“Listen to you, proud papa!” Melinda interrupted with a smirk. “I saw that garden on my last home visit. Impressive.” 

“She really is.”

“Where is she, by the way? Did you bring her with you?”

“No. She’s sleeping over at Pepper’s house,” Phil said. “The two of them have become really good friends. She’s a great girl,” Phil continued. “Strong, resilient...” He locked eyes with Melinda. “Thank you for bringing me her. I really mean that.”

Melinda patted his shoulder. “Thanks for taking her. And thanks for taking this one, too.”

“I just wish we’d found him before this.” Phil’s mouth thinned as he turned back to the unconscious boy. 

“At least we can help him now,” she replied. “And he’s going to need a lot of it.” 

“I know,” Phil nodded. “No formal schooling, probably ever, mother deceased before he was even three years old. And then raised by an abusive, alcoholic father and his violent brother who tried to lead him into a life of crime and then attempted to kill him when he refused.” He sighed. “Poor kid.”

“Yeah,” Melinda sighed as well. She glanced out the window of the private hospital room. It was early March and outside it still looked more like winter than spring as darkness still came too early and the temperature was still too cold. “It’s getting late and I’ve got a lot of paperwork to get ready for you for tomorrow. I should go.” She picked her purse up off the floor before looking at him again. “You staying with us tonight?”

“No.” Phil shook his head. “Thanks for the invite, but I’m staying here.”

“The doctors said that he’s got enough pain meds in him to keep him asleep for a while.” 

“It’s okay,” Phil said. “I want to be here when he wakes up.”

Melinda smiled. “You’re a good dad, Phil.” 

Phil smiled back. “I just hope Clint thinks so, too.”

* * *

Phil picked up Clint from the hospital ten days later. 

“Ready to go?” Phil said as he came into Clint’s room. The young man was standing by the edge of the hospital bed, looking fidgety and nervous as he waited. 

The bruising on his face had faded to greenish-yellow blotches and at some point the stiches that had repaired the deep cut across the bridge of his nose had been removed. He still had a cast around his right wrist and two of his fingers had been taped together. But overall he looked so much better than when Phil had first seen him, unconscious and swollen with injury. 

The boy was handsome in a rugged, unusual way, with large grey-blue eyes and a nose that had obviously been broken even before this recent beating. His hair was a non-descript ash brown that would probably go lighter in the summer. He looked unsure, but hopeful, and there was even a light of humour and optimism in those big eyes. Phil found himself smiling at Clint. This was definitely someone he wanted to get to know. 

Phil took in Clint’s apparel. He was wearing gray track pants and a gray sweatshirt, both of which were obviously too large for him, and a pair of what looked like black construction boots. There was a strip of duct tape wrapped around the toe of one boot, apparently holding it together. 

Phil blinked. “You got your stuff?”

“I don’t have anything,” Clint said, his fingers moving restlessly on the hem of the sweatshirt. “Ms. May brought me these clothes so I didn’t hafta wear the scrubs home.” He paused. “I didn’t steal ‘em. I swear.”

“Never thought you did,” Phil replied easily, keeping the dismay from Clint’s words off his face. “But I was hoping you’d have some more things to take with you to the farm. You know, to make it feel more like home.”

“I haven’t really lived anywhere but the circus,” Clint said. “And I’m not sure that you’d want your place to smell like that, so it’s probably really good that I’m not coming with anything.” He grinned at his joke, and Phil immediately found he had to smile back. Clint’s humour was infectious. 

“Then I will consider myself lucky,” Phil laughed. “But it does make our trip home a bit more complicated. Would you mind if we stopped by Target on the way to grab you some things?”

Clint blinked at him. “You want to _buy_ me stuff?” 

“Well, yeah,” Phil said. “You know, things like pants and shirts and soap. Things you’ll need at your new home.”

“Oh yeah, soap!” Clint exclaimed, his smile widening. “To keep off the circus smell!” 

Phil burst out laughing. “Absolutely.”

Clint laughed too, and then clutched at his sides. “Awww ribs.”

“Are you okay?” Phil moved to his side. “I can call the nurse…”

“I’m okay,” Clint waved him off. “It’s just sore sometimes.”

“Do you need any pain medication?” Phil had been given a small bag for Clint, which basically consisted of a half-finished jar of pain medication and a pamphlet on how to care for the healing incision from his splenectomy, and another pamphlet on how to deal with his cracked ribs and yet a third for his cast and splinted fingers. The most important thing for Clint now was to rest and not do anything strenuous until he was fully healed. 

“Do you need any pain medication?” Phil asked, fishing out the bottle.

“I had some with breakfast,” Clint said. “It should hold me for a couple of hours.” He looked up at Phil with those huge eyes. “We’ll be home by then. Right?”

Phil nodded. “For sure. But first, Target.”

* * *

Clint, it turned out, was impossible to shop with.

Maybe ‘impossible,’ was the wrong word, Phil mused as he waited for Clint outside the dressing room. It wasn’t so much that Clint was impossible and more that he refused to make a real decision about anything. Every pair of pants he tried on fit _great_ , every shirt was _fine_ , and all the colours were _awesome_ and it was frankly making Phil a little crazy. The boy hadn’t even shown a preference between boxers or briefs, and that clearly was impossible. No one liked both types of underwear. In the end, Phil had grabbed a couple of packages of boxer-briefs in black and grey and thrown them in the cart, and Clint had grinned like he’d won the lottery. 

Clint stepped out of the dressing room, shirtless (again) and wearing yet another pair of jeans that Phil had chosen for him. His surgical scar was clearly visible against the hospital-induced pallor of Clint’s skin, and under the bad lights of the dressing room the bruising where he’d been kicked hard enough to crack his ribs was obvious. Phil barely managed to stop himself from wincing at the sight. 

“So,” Phil said after a moment when Clint hadn’t offered any opinion about the jeans (again). “How are they?”

“Great!” Clint said predictably. 

Phil sighed inwardly and eyed the jeans critically. Clint’s body was well-muscled from his years in the circus, but he was short, so finding jeans that were large enough for his legs but that didn’t gape in the waist or trail on the ground was proving to be difficult. This pair however, seemed to fit. 

It was a miracle that Phil wasn’t going to waste. “Great,” he echoed. “Let’s get them.”

“Awesome!” Clint beamed, and went back into the dressing room. 

“Which colours do you want?” Phil asked, already knowing the answer. 

“They’re all good!” Clint called. 

“Of course they are,” Phil muttered. He ended up buying him five pairs, one in every colour they came in, including a strange acid-wash that Phil had sworn hadn’t even been popular in the eighties. Clint was, of course, delighted.

All-in-all it took them just over an hour to gather enough clothes and toiletries to ensure that Clint was well provided for. Phil debated taking Clint to buy a new pair of boots, but by this point the boy’s energy was obviously flagging, and he kept rubbing his ribs and then his abdomen as if he were in pain. 

“Do you want your meds?” Phil asked him quietly as the cashier rang up his purchases. Phil gestured at the point-of-purchase drink coolers. “I can get you some water or ginger ale to take it with.”

Clint shook his head. “I can’t swallow pills like that,” he said to Phil’s immediate dismay. “They gave me them in applesauce at the hospital.”

“Shit,” Phil muttered. The cashier was nearly done ringing up their items and while the Target sold food items as well, they were almost at the other end of the store. He debated running to get applesauce anyway and then changed his mind. “We’ll be home in less than twenty minutes. Do you think you can wait that long?”

Clint nodded. “I’ll be fine.” 

They made their way out of the store and onto the sidewalk. It was mid-March and spring was just around the corner, but the day was cold and blustery. Clint was leaning against the cart’s handle, looking miserable. 

“Here,” Phil said as he draped his coat around Clint’s shoulders. “You stay with the cart and I’ll bring the car. It won’t take me long.”

“’Kay,” Clint replied, with an obvious loss of his earlier enthusiasm. Phil left for his car at a jog, cursing himself for thinking that Clint would be able to handle a trip to the store so soon after his discharge. He just wanted to get him home and on the couch with a cup of tea and enough pain-med-laden applesauce to make him feel better. 

Unfortunately the universe wasn’t helping. The parking lot was packed and the pedestrians were stupid, and it took almost ten full minutes for Phil to get the car from his parking space to the store entrance where Clint was waiting. 

There was a police cruiser parked at the curb by Clint, and an officer was standing in front of him, hands on his hips. And even from two car lengths away, Phil could tell that Clint was terrified. 

“Shit!” Phil threw the car into park and jumped out. 

He was just in time to hear the officer saying: “So if both your mom and dad are dead, then who bought you all this stuff?”

“I did—“ Phil said loudly as he rounded the front of the car and started moving up the sidewalk to where Clint and the officer were standing. But he was too late.

Clint shoved the cart at the officer and took off down the side of the building like the devil was on his heels, Phil’s coat landing on the pavement behind him. 

“Damn it!” Phil took off after him. “I’m his father!” Phil shouted to the officer as he passed, barely glancing to see if his words had registered. Clint took the corner ahead and disappeared around the side of the building and Phil felt his heart seize in his chest. If he lost Clint… 

It turned out he needn’t have worried. Clint was stopped a few feet from the corner of the building, resting heavily with his back against the bricks, arms wrapped around his abdomen. 

“Clint!” Phil shouted, coming up beside him and pulling him into his arms. Clint immediately sagged into him and Phil found himself kneeling on the pavement, Clint half-lying in front of him, his weight against Phil’s chest. 

“Do you need an ambulance?” Phil said, hearing the note of panic in his voice. His son, his _son_ was in terrible pain and there wasn’t anything Phil could do about it.

“’M okay,” Clint muttered, his eyes closed. “Jus’ need to rest a minute.” He smiled weakly without opening his eyes. “That nurse was right about no strenuous activity.”

“Glad to hear we’ve learned something,” Phil said, hugging him tighter. A few people had started gathering, but Phil waved them off with a quick explanation that Clint was recovering from surgery but would be fine. 

The police cruiser pulled up and the officer got out again. 

“Does he need an ambulance?” he asked. 

Phil shot him a venomous look. “Why the hell were you harassing him like that?” 

The officer blinked. “Sorry?”

“You were harassing him about where he got the bags from!” Phil spat. “Like it wasn’t obvious that they’d been paid for. Can’t you see he’s been hurt?”

“Oh no, no, it’s not like that!” The officer protested. “I could see that he’d been injured from his cast. He looked like he was going to fall over, so I just wanted to find out who he was with so I could get that person to take him home. He said his parents were dead…”

“Oh.” Phil said. “I’m sorry. And they are. He’s adopted. He just—“

“No, no, it’s okay, I get it,” the officer said. “You’re his dad. I’d be mad too if someone scared my kid like that.”

“He’s just had surgery,” Phil explained. 

“Damn,” the officer said. “Sorry I made you run.”

“Sorry I took off,” Clint muttered, cracking his eyes open. “And sorry I pushed the cart into you.”

“It’s okay.” The officer smiled. “I put all your stuff into the trunk so no one would steal it.” He gestured towards Clint. “Can we move him into the cruiser so he’s out of the wind?”

“Yes. Great idea.” Phil said and he and the officer gently helped Clint up to move the few feet to settle into the cruiser’s back seat.

“Neat,” Clint said, “it’s got a cage!” Then he winced. “Ow.”

“Clint,” Phil said, “I’m going to leave you with officer—“ he glanced at the officer who was standing beside him. 

“Thawne, Eddie Thawne,” he officer said. “I’m new to the County. I just transferred in from Central City.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Phil said. He turned back to Clint. “So officer Thawne is going to watch you while I go back into the store to get you some applesauce so you can take your pain meds, okay?”

“I have a pudding cup in my lunch,” Eddie said. “Do you think that would help?”

“Pudding would be great!” Clint exclaimed with almost his normal level of enthusiasm. 

“It’s vanilla,” Eddie said. “Is that okay?”

“I’m sure Clint will love vanilla,” Phil sighed just as Clint shouted: “I love vanilla!” 

The officer went to his trunk to fetch it, and Phil took the moment to crouch down where Clint could see him. “I know you were scared, but you just can’t run like that.”

“I usta run when my dad got angry.” Clint shrugged one shoulder and studiously didn’t make eye contact. “I guess I got into the habit.”

“I’m sure it worked great to protect you from your dad,” Phil said gently. “But you don’t need to run now. Now running is going to make more problems than it fixes okay? This is a perfect example. The officer just wanted to help you, but you ran before you found out.”

“Sorry,” Clint muttered. 

“Just promise me you’ll stay put next time you’re scared? And let me help you?”

“I’ll try,” Clint said. 

“I’ll take it.” Phil smiled, and was gratified to see Clint’s small smile in return. 

“One Jell-O vanilla pudding cup, coming up!” Officer Thawne said, clearly having waited until Phil had finished speaking with Clint before making his appearance. Phil decided that he was going to write a complimentary note about officer Thawne to the Poughkeepsie Police Department. “Complete with spoon.”

“A spoon?” Clint exclaimed, his eyes lighting with humour. “That’s _fantastic!_ ”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

* * *

**Steve**

“I really appreciate you offering me a place to stay, sir,” Steve said. His hands clutched the handle of his duffel bag tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

Phil glanced over at him before turning his attention back to carefully maneuvering the pick-up truck down the farm’s long driveway. Normally he could drive it at regular speed, but it had been a snowy winter followed by a warmer than usual spring, and the combination of the plow clearing the snow and then the fast melt had caused the route to develop ruts. He’d really have to get the gravel replaced soon or continue to risk the truck’s axels merely by driving home. 

“You know that I’m not just offering you a place to stay,” Phil said as he steered the truck around another pothole. “My plan is to adopt you.” 

Out of the corner of his eye Phil saw Steve swallow. “Yessir.” 

Phil held back his sigh. “I’m sure the idea of having a new parent must be hard for you,” he said. “And no one is ever going to replace your mother—“

“She’s been dead for almost four years,” Steve interrupted, his handsome features hardening. “I think I’m already used to the idea of her not being around.”

“That may be so,” Phil replied, keeping his voice calm. It didn’t take a psychologist to recognize that the situation was making Steve highly anxious, and the last thing Phil wanted to do was to add to that anxiety. “But I can also appreciate that entering a household with a new dad and two new siblings can’t be easy.” He pulled up to a stop in front of the house and turned off the motor. Unbuckling his seat-belt, he moved to face Steve head-on. “And I promise, I, and Natasha and Clint will do everything in our power to make the adjustment as easy as possible.”

“I appreciate that, sir,” Steve said. “But you’re not the first person in the last few years to make that offer, so please forgive me if I reserve judgment.” His blue eyes stayed steady on Phil’s, his shoulders back and square. Only the whiteness of his knuckles on his bag betrayed the anxiety that Phil knew he was feeling. 

“Fair enough,” Phil agreed easily. “All that I ask is you give us a chance.”

Steve nodded but his attention had already shifted to look at the two young woman and the young man who were standing in front of the farm house, clearly waiting for Steve to exit the truck. Phil watched as Steve looked at them and then turned back to Phil. “Which one is your daughter?”

“Natasha’s the one with the darker hair.” Phil gestured at Natasha where she was standing between Pepper and Clint. It was obvious that the three of them had come from the stables by the fact that both Pepper and Natasha were wearing riding boots. As usual, Clint’s feet were bare, and even though it was still May and not yet hot, he wasn’t wearing a shirt, either. The scar from Clint’s splenectomy was easily visible: a straight, red incision from the middle of the bottom of his ribcage to just above his navel, neatly bisecting his taut abdominal muscles. Clint had a thing about clothes, preferring minimal coverage whenever possible. Phil assumed it was from being forced to wear a costume at the circus, and as long it wasn’t a health and safety or decency issue, he’d chosen to let it go. 

It didn’t escape Phil’s notice that Natasha was standing just in front of Clint, as if she were ready to protect him from the unknown threat that Steve might present. 

“Who’s the other girl?” Steve asked, still making no move to get out of the truck. 

“That’s Pepper,” Phil said. “She’s our neighbor.” The complicated relationship Pepper had with the farm, as Natasha’s best friend, the keeper of the horses and as Phil’s honourary niece would probably become clear to Steve the longer he stayed with them. 

If he stayed. At that second, Phil wasn’t sure that Steve wouldn’t bolt up the driveway the moment he opened the truck door, no matter how self-contained he was trying to appear. 

“And Clint’s your son?” Steve continued, as if Phil hadn’t explained everything when he’d picked Steve up from his last foster family. He turned back to look at Phil. “What happened to his stomach? I mean, if it’s okay to ask.” 

“Clint’ll have to tell you that one,” Phil said. Clint was open and chatty at the best of times. Phil was sure that Clint would tell Steve the story of how he got his scar as soon as Steve asked. As evidenced by his minimal clothes, Clint didn’t worry too much about his privacy and was frankly proud of the scar as proof of what he’d survived. 

“Okay,” Steve said, still looking at the three youths out the truck window. 

“You can go meet them,” Phil said quietly after another minute had passed and Steve still hadn’t moved. The truck’s air conditioning had shut off with the motor and even though it was just spring, the truck was quickly becoming uncomfortably warm. Phil was uncharitably considering just leaving Steve in the truck by himself until he was ready.

“Oh, right,” Steve said as if the idea had just occurred to him. He took a breath and got out.

“Thank God,” Phil muttered, and followed quickly behind him. 

Steve was standing in front of the other kids, his back ramrod straight, looking like he was prepared for a military inspection. “Hello, Pepper, Natasha, Clint,” he said, looking each person in the eye as he said their name. “I’m Steve Rogers, and Mr. Coulson says I’m going to be staying with you guys for a while.” 

Phil had to smile at the way Steve’s Brooklyn accent slipped out in the way ‘you guys’ turned into ‘youse guys’ as he spoke. He put his hand on Steve’s back, trying to convey safety and comfort through his touch. 

“My hope is that we’re going to make Steve feel comfortable enough here to want to stay with us permanently,” Phil said to the group. It was nothing that he hadn’t said to all three of them after he’d gotten the call from Melinda that there was another ‘hard-to-place’ child for him to meet, and then again to both Clint and Natasha before he’d left to go pick Steve up. But he knew that it would be helpful to Steve to hear it yet again. 

Regardless of Steve’s all-American good looks and over-the-top politeness, he’d been on the ‘hard-to-place’ list for a reason. A couple of them, actually, and Steve was far too intelligent not to know it. 

“Well, we’re very happy you’re here, Steve,” Pepper said, breaking the ice with her warm confidence. She was almost sixteen and nearly as tall as Steve, who was just shy of six feet and was still growing. They shook hands, as proper as any boardroom.

“Hello Steven,” Natasha said, her formality and the narrowing of her green eyes the only tells of how nervous she actually was to meet Steve. Natasha was reserved to people she didn’t know – almost frighteningly so. But once you got to know her, her caring and sense of humour shone through. Phil gave her all the credit in having helped Clint settle in when he’d first arrived, still bruised and in pain post-surgery. She’d immediately sat him on the couch and put on _Sponge Bob_ cartoons and didn’t ask anything of him beyond his name for the first several days. The memory of Phil coming in from the barn to see Clint asleep with his head on Natasha’s shoulder was still one of his most cherished. 

He hoped she’d be able to work her magic with Steve as well. 

“Hey,” Clint said with a small wave and a bright smile. Clint and Steve were both equally muscular, but Clint was already a couple of inches shorter and most likely wouldn’t catch up. The lack of proper nutrition and the extraordinary amount of abuse he’d endured as a child meant that he’d probably never be taller than about five-eight. The information in Steve’s medical file however suggested that, now his body had the opportunity to grow, he’d probably easily top six foot. 

“Hi,” Steve said to Clint, and then an awkward silence descended on the four of them. Steve shifted his weight and clutched his bag harder. 

“Clint,” Phil said before Steve just totally gave up and ran for the road, “could you please take Steve upstairs and show him the unoccupied bedrooms? He can choose whichever one he likes.” Phil had chosen the farm mostly for the sprawling land, which included several acres of pasture and several more acres of forest spreading away from the house like a giant fan. There was a pond on the property and even an apple orchard left to grow wild, but the real prize was the size of the farm-house itself. Without really meaning to, Phil had bought a house with five bedrooms, meaning that he could have a room to himself and he could still easily house up to eight children if they doubled up. He hadn’t really thought about how many kids he wanted when he’d first started the adoption process, but once he got Natasha he knew that one wouldn’t be enough. It was nice to know he had the space to readily accommodate Steve.

“My own room?” Steve’s surprise was written on his face. “I don’t need that. I don’t mind sharing—“ 

“That may come soon enough,” Phil said with a smile as he gently steered Steve towards the front door, his hand still on his back. “But for now you might as well enjoy the luxury of your own space.”

“Come on,” Clint lit up, clearly happy to have been given a task. He led Steve through the front door. “My room’s the smallest, but I like it ‘cause it’s cozy and gets lots of sunlight. You’ll probably want the second-biggest one near the back. It has the best light after mine.”

He allowed the two boys to move a few steps ahead of him up the stairs and into the short hallway that led to the rooms, letting them have the chance to start to get to know each other. He leaned up against the entrance to the corridor, listening as Clint gave Steve a tour of the upper floor.

“…And here’s where we keep the towels and soap and shit—I mean stuff—“ Clint’s voice was audible as was the sound of him opening and closing the cupboards in the bathroom. “And Phil keeps extra toothbrushes and stuff in case you don’t have one or something.” 

“I have a toothbrush,” Steve said stiffly, as if it was an insult to think he would’ve arrived unprepared.

“That’s great!” Clint said, clearly pleased for Steve. Clint had left the hospital with absolutely nothing of his own except a pair of boots. “Don’t touch that stuff,” Clint continued. “It’s Natasha’s. It’s _all_ Natasha’s. She’ll probably kill you if you use it.”

“Why would I want to use her nail polish?” Phil could just picture Steve’s confused expression. 

“’Cause it’s pretty?” Clint said. “I like the sparkly one, and sometimes she’ll paint my nails for me if I ask real nice.” 

Phil smirked at Clint’s guileless response. Clint had grown up performing in a purple costume in a circus, after all. Wearing nail polish would be nothing after that.

“Don’t you get teased for that? Like at school?” Phil could hear the incredulity in Steve’s tone, like _not_ getting teased for that would be impossible.

“We get schooled here,” Clint replied easily. “Ms. Foster and Ms. Carter and Mr. Odinson come every day to teach us right here. And none of them, or Pepper or Phil care if I wear nail polish. Why would they?” 

There was a pause as Steve clearly digested Clint’s remark. “Oh.” 

Clint and Steve exited the bathroom after that, Clint glancing at him as they moved down the hall. 

“That’s Natasha’s room,” Clint said as they passed a closed door with posters of ‘keep out!’ and ‘death to trespassers!’ emblazoned on it in bright colours. “Do what the poster says,” Clint warned. “She’ll kill you if you go in without permission.”

“She sounds, um, a little violent.” Steve said.

“Yeah,” Clint said, and Phil could hear the admiration in his voice. “She’s great!” 

They disappeared through another door. “And here,” Clint said with all the drama of a born performer, “is your room!” 

Phil heard the sound of Steve dropping his bag on the floor. “This – this is mine?” 

“Well, if you want it,” Clint said. “There’s another room across that hall that’s a bit bigger, but like I said, this one has better light.” 

“The light is great,” Steve said. “I like to draw so… yeah, the light is fine.”

_Steve likes to draw,_ Phil thought. That piece of information wasn’t in Steve’s file. He’d have to make a special stop at the art supply store next time he was in town to get Steve some supplies. He was pretty sure that one duffel bag Steve had brought didn’t contain a sketch pad or pencils. 

“You can pick either bed you want,” Clint was saying. “All the rooms have two beds already because I guess Phil really likes kids.”

“I’ll take the one by the window,” Steve said. There was a pause, then his voice again, only quieter. “So, what’s Phil like?”

“He’s great!” Clint enthused and Phil couldn’t help but smile. “He doesn’t hit you or anything! Even if you break the rules. And he feeds you every day, and you can eat whenever you’re hungry, even if it’s not mealtime. And he tells you when you’re doing a good job at stuff. I really like it here.” Phil’s smile had slipped the more that Clint had spoken. Everything that was making Clint so happy was just the normal things that children should be able to take for granted. He vowed to himself to take it up a notch for Clint and show the boy more physical affection along with the positive words of encouragement. More back pats and kind touches, and even hugs if Clint would tolerate it. Lord knew he probably didn’t get touched with kindness very much in his life. 

“What – what about other things?” Steve asked. “Like, the nail polish thing?”

“He doesn’t care. Like I said,” Clint said. “Now, you wanna go see the horses?”

“But what about other stuff?” Steve continued doggedly. “Like, what if you were gay?”

Phil stood up straight, eyes wide. He’d thought Steve had been hard-to-place because of his tendency to get into fights and his medical history. It'd never occurred to him there’d be an issue with his sexual orientation. It certainly hadn’t been flagged in his file. 

“But I’m not gay,” Clint said, clearly missing the point. A beat passed, and then, “Wait. Are you?”

“Is that going to be a problem?” Steve responded. And _there_ was the tendency to fight that Phil had been warned about. He took a step towards the room, prepared to intervene if things got ugly between the boys. He didn’t know Clint’s attitude about sexual orientation. In the two months Clint had been with them it hadn’t come up. 

“No,” Clint said easily. “Half my friends in the circus were gay or bi or pan or whatever.”

“Oh,” Steve responded, and Phil could hear a wealth of surprised relief in that one syllable, vast enough that it made Phil’s heart hurt. “Well, that’s good.”

There was a few seconds of silence, and then Phil heard Clint’s voice again. “Are you worried that’d be a problem for _Phil?_ ” Clint might be painfully uneducated, but he was highly intuitive. It didn’t surprise Phil at all that he’d understood Steve’s unspoken concern. Now Steve’s heightened anxiety and surety that he wouldn’t be staying made that much more sense. 

“Well, won’t it be?” Steve said, and the confrontational tone was back in his voice. “Phil used to be a cop. I thought they all hated gays.” 

“You should ask him,” Clint said. “He’s standing in the hallway.”

Phil found himself grinning at the picture of shock that must have been on Steve’s face. 

“Maybe I will,” Steve said, and he stepped out of the room to stand in front of Phil, like a soldier ready to face a firing squad. _This kid is so brave!_ Phil thought to himself as his respect for Steve ratcheted up a notch. Not only had he come out to Clint within minutes of meeting him, but now he was confronting Phil. Phil couldn’t help but smile.

“Is there something you wanted to ask me, Steve?” Phil said casually, as if he hadn’t already heard their entire conversation. 

Clint had come out of the room as well, and was watching the exchange with interest. 

“I’m gay,” Steve said without preamble. “And some of my other foster parents had an issue with that. I want to know if you’re going to have an issue with that – with _me_ \-- as well.”

There was a wealth of hurt hiding under Steve’s straightforward speech, and Phil had to work to school his face to not show the anger that he was suddenly feeling towards everyone who’d ever made Steve feel bad for who he was. 

“Firstly,” Phil said, “I am incredibly proud of you for having the courage to tell me this.” He smiled inwardly as Steve’s mouth opened in surprise. “And secondly, the only thing I care about concerning your sexuality, or that of any of my children, is that you share yourself with someone who will treat you with the kindness, love and respect that you all deserve, regardless of their gender. 

"And thirdly,” Phil continued before Steve could start speaking again, “is that you seem to have misunderstood my role here. I’m not your foster father. I’m planning on being your actual father. A permanent, real father for the rest of your life.” He moved towards Steve until he was close enough to put his hands on Steve’s shoulders and look the young man straight in the eye. “I plan on adopting you in the near future, Steve. If you’ll have me.”

Steve swallowed hard, his blue eyes wide. “Oh.” And then he gave Phil a tremulous smile. 

Phil grinned back, feeling himself relax. Thanks to Clint’s help he’d made a connection with Steve, and that was an excellent start.

“See? I told you Phil’d be fine with you being gay,” Clint said matter-of-factly. “Wanna see the horses now?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said, still smiling. “I think I’d like that.”

* * *

It was the last week of September, and Phil was in his office on the main floor of the house. It was a little room off the living room with bay windows that showed a great view of the backyard and also allowed him to stay near the kids even when he was working.

He was on the phone, arranging for another delivery of hay for the horses, when he heard a cry of rage followed immediately by a loud _crash_ , a cry of pain, and then a sound like the front door banging shut. 

“I’ll have to call you back,” Phil said immediately, and keyed off his phone.

* * *

“What the hell is going on here?” Phil demanded as he rushed into the living room. 

“Nothing we can’t handle, sir,” Steve said. Phil had noticed that he was often overly formal when he was upset. “We’re fine.” 

Steve and Natasha were standing in the middle of the room, looking as if they were facing off for a cage match to the death. The coffee table, the game controllers and the two glasses that had been on top of it had obviously been knocked over. The crash he’d heard was from them smashing as they landed on the floor. Steve’s hands were clenched into fists and he was breathing hard as if he was doing his damnedest to calm himself down. There was a patch of red forming across one cheekbone, exactly as if –

“Natasha!” Phil whirled on his daughter. “Did you _hit_ Steve?”

She spat something at Steve in Russian, her eyes narrowed and as green as a cat’s. 

“English, Natasha!” Phil ordered. “And I asked you both a question; what the hell happened?”

Neither one of them answered. 

“Fine.” Phil gave up on them for the moment, looking for the third member of the group. “Clint,” he said, turning towards the kitchen to find the boy. His eyes scanned the room. “Clint?” He looked back at Steve and Natasha, who were still trying to kill each other with their eyes. “Where’d Clint go?”

“He took off when the coffee table fell over,” Steve said.

“Took off?” Phil repeated. “Where?”

“I don’t know, sir.” Steve said. 

Natasha just glared at him before returning her glare to Steve. 

Phil scrubbed his face with his hands. “Alright,” he said, letting his anger show. “I’m going to go look for Clint, and while I’m looking, the two of you are going to go up to your rooms and _stay_ there until I come back. And then we are going to have a conversation that the two of you are not going to like. Do you understand?”

“Yessir,” Steve said, and strode past Natasha on the way to the stairs. 

She shoved him with her shoulder as he passed. Hard. Natasha had turned fourteen in November, but she was slender and barely five-foot, while Steve had turned seventeen in July, and was solid and heavily muscled and brushing six-foot tall. Her actions should've been inconsequential and almost comical, but Natasha was deceptively strong and their martial arts teacher had taught her well. 

Steve gasped in pain and fell back, hands clutching his side. 

“Natasha!” Phil cried, shocked at her actions. 

“You can’t have Clint! Clint's _mine!_ ” she screamed at Steve. She turned and ran for the stairs. The next sound was her door slamming shut with all the force she could manage. 

Phil helped Steve sit down on the couch. “You okay?”

“Just winded,” Steve huffed. “She’s stronger than she looks.” 

Phil held Steve’s shoulder. “I need to go find Clint. Will you be okay—?“

His phone rang. Phil sighed and scooped it out of his pocket. He checked the number and after a brief debate thumbed it on. “Pepper,” he said, “I’m kind of in the middle of something here—“

“Okay,” Pepper said, “but I wanted to tell you that Clint’s in the barn, and somehow he’s gotten up into the rafters. I thought you should know.”

Phil felt a small part of his tension ease. “Is he okay up there?” 

“He seems to be,” Pepper said. “He’s not doing much. Just…lying there. Watching the horses.”

“Why’s he up there?” Phil couldn’t help but ask. 

“Hold on.” There was a sound of Pepper her calling up to him. “He says he sees better from a distance.”

“Of course he does,” Phil muttered. “Thanks for telling me, Pepper. Please tell Clint he can stay up there for fifteen more minutes, but then he needs to come back.”

“Will do!” Pepper replied cheerfully, and after a quick “good-bye!” she rang off.

Phil let out a breath. He was relieved to know that Clint was safe, but it was obvious his tendency to bolt when he was frightened hadn’t changed in the six months he’d been living at the farm. Phil made a mental note to tell Sam before Clint’s next session to make sure that they could talk about it. He’d be talking to Clint about it too, but in a much more direct way.

He sat heavily on the couch by Steve and looked at the coffee table.

“The salesperson said that the glass top was tempered and shouldn’t break.” Phil eyed the massive crack that had formed through it. “Guess he was wrong.”

“I apologize for the damage. I’ll pay to replace it, of course,” Steve said stiffly. “You might have to be patient, though, since I’ll have to make those arrangements from my next foster home—“

“What?” Phil interrupted, feeling like he’d just been slapped. “ _What?_ ”

“I got into a physical altercation with your daughter,” Steve said in that same overly-formal way. “Clearly that’s not acceptable for a foster child. It would only make sense that—“

“Steve,” Phil said, raising his hand in a negating gesture. “Just stop.”

Steve blinked. “Sir?”

“I would _never_ give you up. I _will_ never give you up. You’re my son.”

Steve shook his head. “Mr. Coulson, you don’t have to say that. I know how hard I am to take care of. I really don’t mind—“

“Steve!” Phil said sharply. “I don’t think you’re listening. I don’t want you only when you’re happy, or easy or simple. I want you when you’re angry and difficult and complex. I want _you_ , exactly the way you are.” He put his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You’re my _son._ ” 

“But I’m gay, and mouthy and I have all these medical issues – well _had_ \-- and I get into fights—“

“No, No,” Phil said, giving Steve’s shoulder a little shake. “That doesn’t matter. _None_ of it matters. At the risk of repeating myself, I want you. The big, beautiful, mouthy gay-boy that you are.” He gave Steve a penetrating look. “Do I make myself clear?” 

Steve’s eyes had gone suspiciously shiny. “Yessir.”

“C’mere,” Phil said, and pulled Steve into his arms. And to Phil’s pleasant surprise, Steve let him.

* * *

The remains of the glasses and the coffee table had been cleaned up and thrown away, and the game controllers were now tucked away with the rest of the console. Clint, Natasha and Steve were sitting on the couch, looking sullen, contrite and defiant all at once. It hadn’t escaped Phil’s notice that Natasha had sat between Clint and Steve, shoving her body over so that she and Clint were squashed on one side of the couch and Steve was completely by himself on the other. 

“So,” Phil said, feeling a bit like a broken record. “What happened?”

As he predicted, both Steve and Natasha remained silent. Steve's gaze was somewhere over Phil’s shoulder, and Natasha was focused intently on the stuffed horse she held in her hands. Using his well-honed policing instincts, Phil looked at Clint. If anyone was going to crack, it’d be him.

Clint licked his lips and glanced nervously at Natasha and then at Steve. “Nothing?”

Phil took a cleansing breath. “Clint—“

“It was Steve’s fault!” Natasha said before Clint broke. “It’s him!”

Steve’s expression was almost comical in his outrage. “ _What?_ ”

“It was you!” Natasha turned on him. “You! Inviting him to play on the game system, joking and laughing with him! Putting your arm around him—“

“I’m not after your boyfriend!” Steve shouted. “I might be gay but that doesn’t mean I want _every_ guy who's near me!”

“I’m not her boyfriend,” Clint said to no one in particular. 

“He’s mine!” Natasha shouted at Steve. “He’s _not_ your friend! _He’s mine!_ ”

“I can be both your friends…” Clint held up his hands placatingly. 

“Enough!” Phil shouted at all of them, and gratifyingly they went silent.

“Okay,” Phil said. “I think I’m getting the picture. Natasha got upset because Steve and Clint were playing together and something happened and she ended up hitting Steve. Am I right?”

“You forgot the part where she jumped off the coffee table so she could punch him in the face!” Clint said with far too much enthusiasm. 

“So that explains how it ended up on the floor,” Phil muttered. He looked at Steve. “You hit her back?”

Steve made a face. “No.”

“You should’ve,” Phil said. “You have every right to defend yourself if someone’s hitting you.”

“I do defend myself!” Steve said. “But I don’t hit girls.”

“Word of advice,” Phil said. “Hit anyone who’s trying to hurt you, regardless of their gender.” He turned back to Natasha. “Natasha,” he said. “Really?”

“Clint’s mine,” she mumbled, manipulating the horse’s neck with her thumbs.

“Yes,” Phil agreed easily. “Clint is yours. He’s your friend. But he’s my son and Pepper’s friend and Steve’s friend too. And one day he might even feel like he’s your brother.” The way that Natasha looked at Clint made Phil suspect that her feelings towards him were anything but sisterly, and he realized he might have to deal with that at a later date. But he was making a point. “My point is, that Clint has many roles in many people’s lives. He can love you, and love me, and even love Steve too.” He looked at his son. “Isn’t that right, Clint?”

Clint nodded vehemently. “Oh yeah,” he said. He turned as much as the small space would allow so he was facing Natasha. “You know how much I love you.” The expression in Clint's eyes made Phil suddenly realize that perhaps Natasha’s crush wasn’t unrequited, and he really would have to do something about that, sooner rather than later. “Like a friend, I mean,” Clint added quickly. “A friend. But I love Phil, like my dad,” and the quick smile he shot Phil felt like he’d just won the lottery. “And I like Steve, too.” He smiled at Steve, equally as quick, but twice as shy. “But that won’t ever change how I feel about you, Tash,” he finished. “Not ever.” 

“But you like Steve better,” Natasha wailed like her heart was broken. “He’s older, and really smart and very handsome, and he’s way better at video games than I am. How can you still like me when you like him?”

“I’m not handsome. Or that smart.” Steve said to Natasha. “I’m nothing special. I’m just a kid from Brooklyn.” 

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you making fun of me?”

Steve sat back. “What? No!”

“Then why would you say that you’re not handsome or smart?” she demanded. “Have you never heard Ms. Carter or Ms. Foster talk about your schoolwork? Have you never looked in a _mirror?_ ”

Steve blushed, looking horribly uncomfortable. “Uh.”

“That’s not the point,” Phil cut in quickly. “The point is that Clint’s heart is big enough to love a lot of people, Natasha. Including me, including you, and including Steve.”

“It’s true.” Clint nodded fervently. “I can love a lot of people. And I like Steve, for sure! I just don’t like him best.” He smiled, and tentatively Natasha smiled back and took his hand.

“Me, too,” Phil said. “I love you. Each of you. Very much.” He made sure to meet each child’s eyes as he spoke, holding their gaze until he knew they’d heard when he’d said. 

“Okay?” he asked, looking back to Natasha. She nodded, and glanced over at Steve.

“I’m sorry I hit you,” she said. 

“It’s okay.” Steve shrugged. He grinned and poked at the darkening spot on his cheekbone. “I haven’t been hit that hard in a while.” 

“Next time you’re upset,” Phil said to Natasha, “use your words first.”

She nodded. 

“Good.” He turned to Clint. “And Clint,” he said, waiting until Clint’s big eyes met his, “I’m guessing that, when Natasha hit Steve you got scared and ran. Am I right?”

Clint dropped his gaze. “Yes.” 

“Can you tell me why that’s a bad idea?”

“Because I could get lost, or hurt,” Clint recited. “And it doesn’t solve anything.” 

“That’s right,” Phil agreed. “So what are you going to do next time?”

“Stay and try to remember I’m safe?” Clint flicked his eyes up again. 

“You are safe,” Phil said. “You’re all safe here. Little Russian prize-fighters notwithstanding.” He smiled at Natasha’s giggle. 

“I’m sorry I broke your table, papa,” Natasha said and jumped off the couch to give him a hug. 

“It’s okay, princess,” Phil said, hugging her back. He kissed her head and released her. 

She took a fortifying breath and turned to Steve. “I really am sorry.”

Steve shrugged. “I’m the new guy here.” He looked her in the eye. “But I’m really not trying to steal Clint away from you. I swear.”

“I know,” Natasha said. 

“You know,” Steve said, “I was an only child for my whole life until I got here. I’ve never had a sister. I’d think I’d like one.” He took her hand. “What’d you think?”

“I think I’d like that too,” she said. 

“Awesome, bro.” Clint reached over and slapped Steve on the shoulder. “Now can we go back to Mario Kart?”

“No,” said Phil before Steve could reply. “No videogames. You can earn them back when you’ve gone a whole week with no punch-ups, name-calling or disappearing. Understood?”

“Okay,” Clint and Natasha whined and slouched down on the couch. 

“Yes, dad,” Steve said. And smiled.

* * *

“Clint, can I talk with you for a minute?”

Phil’s realization that Clint and Natasha might be developing feelings for each other had been preying on his mind since the fight between Natasha and Steve earlier that day. Part of him wished he could just ignore it, but the more realistic part knew that he had to deal with it, and the sooner the better. It wouldn’t be over-exaggerating to say that Clint and Natasha’s happiness might ride on this conversation. 

But it sure didn’t mean it was going to be easy.

Case in point. Clint looked like he was going to either run away or throw up from the anxiety that Phil’s request had caused. Clint might have been with Phil for the better part of six months, but he still wasn’t used to requests from adults that didn’t end with a beating. He sat down on the edge of the kitchen chair opposite Phil, his big eyes even larger than usual. His fingers began ghosting up and down the surface of the table, a huge indication of how much Clint wanted to bolt. 

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Phil said quickly, trying to alleviate at least some of Clint’s concern. “I just need to ask you something.”

Clint swallowed. “What?”

Phil leaned forward, trying to keep his expression pleasant and neutral. He’d been thinking for a while about how he was going to start this conversation, but there still didn’t seem to be an easy way to go about it. “I think that you and Natasha are in love with each other,” Phil said without preamble. “Am I right?”

Clint stood so fast that the chair toppled over. “I’ve never touched her!” He exclaimed, hands out like he had to ward off a physical blow. “I swear to God I’ve never laid a finger on her!”

“I never thought you did,” Phil said as calmly as possible with a nearly hysterical teenager in front of him. “You’re not being accused of anything, Clint. It’s only a question. I promise.” Clint was still staring at him, wide-eyed. “Clint,” Phil said quietly. “It’s okay. Please sit down.”

Warily, Clint righted the chair and sat, his eyes on Phil the whole time as if he was expecting to be hit at any second. “I’ve never touched her,” Clint said again. His hands gripped the edge of the table. 

“I know,” Phil said, equally as quietly as before. “I know you’d never hurt her.”

Clint blinked, as if he was trying to judge the veracity of Phil’s statement. “Then why are you asking if I love her?”

It was Phil’s turn to blink. What kind of life had Clint lived if loving someone was always equated with force and violence? “Because I think – no, I _know_ \-- that you are the type of man who can love someone without hurting them,” he said. “And I think that you love Natasha in just that way.”

Clint’s forehead wrinkled. “Like a sister?”

Phil smiled. “I don’t think you love her like a sister.” 

Clint gasped and then dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I tried feeling like a brother towards her. But I couldn’t. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Phil put his hand over Clint’s, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “And if it’s any consolation, I don’t think she thinks of you like a brother, either.”

Clint’s eyes shot up to meet Phil’s. “Really?”

“Really.” 

The smile Phil received was blinding. “That’s great!” 

“It could be,” Phil agreed carefully. “But you’re both still very young and, as I’m sure Sam’s told you, you both have some things that you need to sort out before either one of you will be ready for an adult relationship. But as long as you both continue to treat each other with kindness and respect, there’s no reason that a relationship between the two of you couldn’t eventually work.”

Clint was frowning again. “So you’re saying that it’s okay that we like each other, as long as we don’t do anything about it for a while?”

Phil shrugged. “Pretty much.” 

Clint sighed. “That sucks.” 

“Not if it means your relationship might actually have a chance. Natasha’s only fourteen after all. And you’re only fifteen. That’s still fairly young.”

“It wasn’t too young for Romeo and Juliette,” Clint grinned.

“Firstly, I’m very pleased to see that you’re actually learning something from Ms. Carter,” Phil said, “and secondly, I’m not sure they’re the best role models, considering they died.”

Clint’s grin grew wider. “Details.” 

Phil laughed with Clint, but then schooled his expression. “Clint, I’m not saying don’t spend any time with Natasha, in fact I think it’s important that the two of you get to know each other and learn how to care for each other – but first as friends.” He moved so that he was looking straight into Clint’s eyes. “I really need you to wait for your relationship to become anything more than friendship. Do you think you can do that?”

Clint went silent, clearly thinking it through. He licked his lips. “She’s really important to me,” he said softly. 

“I can see that.”

“And I’d really like to – to be with her for a while, once we actually get together.” Clint continued. When he met Phil’s gaze again his smile was back. “She’s worth the wait.” 

“Good,” Phil smiled at him. “And so are you. But there’s one other thing that I need to tell you before you fully commit to being with Natasha.”

“What’s that?”

“If you want to be with Natasha, I can’t legally adopt you.”

Clint’s eyes went even wider. “What?”

“It’s illegal for siblings – even adopted ones – to get married,” Phil explained. “I adopted Natasha last year. If I adopt you too, you’ll never be able to be together.” 

“Shit.” Clint breathed.

“It’s a big decision,” Phil sighed. “And I don’t expect you to make it now, but I wanted you to be aware of your choices.”

“But…but what happens if you don’t adopt me?” Clint’s voice was very small. “Will I have to go away?” 

“No!” Phil nearly shouted. “No, never! I’ll become your legal guardian instead. I’ll be responsible for you in the eyes of the law, but not your dad. That’s the only difference.” 

“So you won’t be my dad?” And now Clint’s blue-green eyes had gone shiny. 

“Oh no,” Phil got out of chair and crossed over to kneel beside Clint. “No Clint. I was your dad the second I saw you in the hospital. You’re my son and you always will be. I don’t need any piece of paper to prove that.” He put his hand on the back of Clint’s neck, holding him gently. “I’ve got all the proof I need in my heart.”

“Okay,” Clint nodded, swiping at a tear that had made its way down his cheek. His smile was watery. “Okay.” 

Phil stood, his hand still on Clint’s neck. “Can I give you a hug?”

“Okay,” Clint said again, and stood so Phil could pull him into his arms. 

“You’ll always be my son,” Phil repeated. “No matter what you choose, I will never leave you. You will always be mine.” 

“Okay,” Clint sighed and hugged him tighter. They held each other for a moment. “This is nice,” Clint muttered. 

“Yes, it is.” Phil chuckled at Clint’s choice of words.

“Can I hug Natasha like this?” And Phil could just _hear_ the grin in Clint’s voice. “You know, in this totally platonic family way that you’re hugging me?”

“We’ll talk about it,” Phil said, and Clint burst out laughing.

* * *

**Tony**

Phil sat in his office, looking out the window. It was late October now, and he could see Natasha, Steve and Clint working hard to prep her garden for the winter. Clint had picked up a handful of dried leaves and dumped them on Natasha, who had shrieked and tackled him in retaliation, clearly using the martial arts techniques that Thor had taught them. Steve had just grabbed her around the waist and pulled her off Clint, whose response was to then turn on Steve with handfuls of dirt. He could just hear the sound of their raucous laughter through the window. 

Phil smiled to himself, happy to hear the kids getting along so well. Then he sighed as he pulled himself away from watching them and returned his focus to the task of running the farm. His pension from the NYPD was more than generous. That, added to his disability insurance, some smart investments he’d made when he was younger and the small stipend he received from Adoption Services for choosing hard-to-place children, meant that money wasn’t really an issue, as long as he budgeted carefully and didn’t buy any more horses, no matter how Pepper looked at him with her big blue eyes. They had eight already, nine if you included the one Pepper owned and ‘boarded’ on Phil’s farm. That was probably enough.

He was currently preparing the monthly pay stubs for the three teachers he employed for the kids. Two of them were brand-new graduates from the local university's B.Ed. program, Jane Foster taught science, while Peggy Carter taught English, history and ran the independent study projects that weren’t science-related. Their third teacher was Thor Odinson, who was Jane’s fiancé. He taught outdoor education, environmental science and martial arts. Thor had been trained in Norway where’d he gotten his degree and had been on his university’s mixed martial arts team. So far he’d been brilliant with the kids and it was always a toss-up between them as to who was their favourite teacher. 

Phil had just finished calculating the number of hours Thor had actually worked (the man was notoriously bad at including his martial arts instruction as teaching time), when the phone rang.

He picked up his cell and thumbed the ‘call accept’ icon. “Coulson.”

“You haven’t been a cop for over three years,” Nick Fury’s voice sounded on the other side of the line, as gruff as ever. “When the fuck you just gonna answer with ‘hello?’”

Phil grinned to himself. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Nick?”

“Melinda got a call from Boston P.D. this morning. She called me and I’m calling you.”

“I don’t know anyone in Boston.” 

“You will soon,” Nick said cryptically. “Seen the news?”

“Not today,” Phil replied. “What’d I miss?”

“Have you been following the train wreck in the guise of Anthony Edward Stark?” 

Phil frowned. “Isn’t he the son of what’s-his-name? You know I don’t read the gossip mags.”

“If by ‘what’s-his-name’ you mean Howard Stark, then you’d be right,” Nick said. “Tony Stark’s his brilliant and massively fucked-up sixteen-year-old son.”

Phil sat up straighter in his chair, beginning to understand where this conversation with Nick was going. “His parents died recently, didn’t they?” 

“Yep.”

“But he must have other relatives to take care of him,” Phil said. Nick’s only response was silence. “Doesn’t he?”

“He did,” Nick said. “His dad’s business partner, a self-important asshole named Obidiah Stane was named Tony’s guardian.”

“You’re saying ‘was.’”

“And that’s why you were always one of my best investigators.” Phil could hear Nick’s smile. “Let’s just say that dear old Obidiah has recently given up that privilege.”

Phil felt his heart clench at the idea of a sixteen-year-old boy losing his parents and then immediately being abandoned by his guardian. His thoughts flashed to Steve, and how brave he’d been, even after he’d been orphaned and then rejected by his foster families over and over. “Why?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “What happened?”

“Tony’s brilliant,” Nick said. “Like, really brilliant. Off-the-charts type of smarts. He graduated his rich-white-folk private high school when he’d just turned fourteen and was accepted into M.I.T. where, ostensibly he’s been in attendance for the last two years.”

“Ostensibly?” Phil said. “What—“

“If you’d let me finish,” Nick snarked. “Anyway, he _did_ attend, like a good boy, but then his parents died earlier this year and apparently it’s been a shit-show ever since.”

Phil could already imagine what Nick was going to say next. “And?”

“And,” Nick repeated. “He was found by BPD when they shut down an off-campus party that had gotten a little out-of-hand. He was nearly dead from alcohol poisoning, Phil.”

“My God,” Phil breathed. 

“Damn right,” Nick continued. “He was damn lucky the cops got there when they did. Not one of those other fuckers at the party had thought to check on him.”

“He nearly died?”

“Yep,” Nick said. “And if that wasn’t bad enough, the news got ahold of the incident and splashed the fact that Stark Industries had an underage alcoholic at their helm, and Obidiah was done.”

“Done?” 

“Uh huh. He disowned Tony and tossed him over to Child Protection to deal with, saying that Tony can come see him again when he’s turned twenty-one and gotten his shit together. Tony actually inherits Stark Industries at twenty-one, but until then, he’s been cut-off.”

“Jesus.” Phil scrubbed his face with his hand. 

“There’s more,” Nick said. “Turns out he let his studies slide after his folks died, and they went right into the gutter. That, combined with the fact he hasn’t been attending any of his classes means that he’s – and I quote -- “been invited to withdraw from the institution.” 

“How very understanding of them,” Phil said dryly. “Where is he now?”

“He’s back in New York from Boston, hopefully recovering his sanity at Maria Stark Memorial, and wrapping his head around the fact that he’s no longer a student at M.I.T., no longer a billionaire, and most important for you, no longer has a family.”

“But why me?” Phil said, “I mean, there must be other people who could take Tony?” 

“Melinda wanted me to get your take on it first, but she’s going to be putting in a recommendation that he go to you,” Nick said. “Believe it or not, he’s top of the hard-to-place list.” 

“A well-educated son of a billionaire? Why on Earth would he be hard to place?”

“Use your deductive skills,” Nick said. ”He’s a rich kid who needs to be away from the paparazzi and his crazy lifestyle. Not many foster families would be able to avoid being dazzled by the glamour that the Stark name represents. Plus he’s probably a drug-addicted alcoholic and both his bisexuality and his daddy issues have been discussed on the internet for years. Not many people would sign up for that.”

Phil sat back in his chair. “I’m not sure I can deal with that either, Nick.” 

He could hear Nick scoff over the phone. “You’ve never been impressed by that Hollywood bullshit.” 

“No,” Phil agreed, “but I’ve got Natasha and Clint – and especially Steve -- to think about.” He winced, just thinking about how Steve’s fierce righteousness would clash with what he’d heard about Tony’s brashness. “I’m not sure that Tony would be able to fit in with them.” 

“He needs someone he can trust, Phil,” Nick said. “Someone where he knows for sure that they’re not caring for him just for a chance at his fortune. You fit that bill.”

“That’s very flattering,” Phil said, “but Steve—“

“Phil,” Nick interrupted. “He’s got no-one.”

Phil closed his eyes. “Okay.” 

He could practically hear Nick’s grin of triumph. “Excellent. If the paperwork goes through as planned, Melinda will be dropping him off Tuesday afternoon.” 

“Don’t forget that I’m not a foster father, Nick.” Phil warned before the other man got off the phone. “You know my goal is to adopt the kids that are placed with me. Tony needs to know that, too.” 

“Tony’s been given up,” Nick said. “He’s available for adoption regardless of his famous last name.”

“Make sure he knows,” Phil repeated. 

“Take care, Cheese,” Nick said, and the line went dead.

“Fuck,” Phil swore to himself. He looked outside where Natasha and the boys had finished their chores and were now at the archery range that Phil and Clint had set up behind the garden. Clint was showing Steve how to hold his bow while Natasha was firing at the targets. Her aim has obviously improved by how close she was getting to the centre, while Steve’s arrows had (mostly) hit the second ring. Clint was aiming at the furthest target, and of course all of his arrows were clustered totally in the gold. They were laughing and chatting happily with no idea at all how complicated their lives were going to become. 

Phil swore again softly as he got to his feet. Pepper was probably still in the barn settling the horses in for the night, so he’d get her first and tell all four of them at once about Tony’s arrival the day after tomorrow. It was better to help prepare them now before disaster struck.

He just hoped that they’d all be prepared enough.

* * *

Phil was in the barn with Steve and Clint, mucking out the stalls, when his phone rang. 

They’d been working for a couple of hours, and even though it was nearly November, the combination of the hard labour and the sun through the windows meant that it was warm enough in the barn for them to have ditched their sweaters. Clint, predictably, had taken off his shirt and his chest was covered in a thin film of dust from the woodchips they were using for the floor of the stalls. 

Natasha and Pepper were in the tack room washing down the saddles and bridles. They’d be responsible for feeding and watering the nine horses after Phil and the boys were done, which was a good trade-off as far as Phil was concerned. Pepper did more than her fair share of stall mucking, regardless of the fact that Phil paid her for her work, and Natasha had to do it by herself for over half a year before Clint arrived, so it was okay for her to avoid the smelly task this weekend. 

He stuffed his gloves in his pocket and thumbed on his phone. “Coulson.”

“Phil, it’s Melinda,” she said. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Okay,” Phil said slowly, propping his shovel up against the stable wall. 

“Tony’s gone missing.”

Phil felt himself go very still. “What do you mean?”

“He’s been staying at Stark Memorial,” Melinda said. “He was meant to be discharged tomorrow morning and then I was going to take him straight from the hospital to your place. But when I called the ward this morning to see how he was doing, they said he’d been discharged.” There was a pause. “I don’t know where he is.”

Phil sucked in a breath. He’d known Melinda for a long time, and had worked with her to deal with some pretty bad child abuse cases during when he was with the NYPD. He couldn’t remember ever hearing even an inkling of fear in her voice. He could hear it now. “Where do you think he’d go?”

“I don’t know,” Melinda said. “Nick’s got his guys working on it, and he’s alerted Border Protection to be on the lookout as well. But the Starks have homes everywhere so he wouldn’t even need to leave the country to disappear, and Obidiah may have cut him off, but he still has his mother’s trust fund money. And he has his driver’s license. He could be anywhere.”

“Damn,” Phil swore. Steve and Clint had stopped working and were looking at him with concern. He must've looked pretty upset, because Clint had already taken a couple of steps back towards the barn doors as if he was planning on bolting. Phil held up a finger to stop him. “Where’s the nearest Stark property?” Phil asked, switching on his detective brain. “I’d start with a circle of approximately 50 miles and check all those properties first. He may go farther, but he’s just got out of hospital and he won’t have any supplies. And he’ll be bright enough to know we’d track his credit cards—“

There was the unmistakable sound of car tires on gravel.

“Hold on,” Phil said. He turned to Steve. “Can you go see who that is?” Steve nodded, then grabbed his jacket and went outside. 

Clint edged closer to Phil, clearly undecided whether he should fear Phil’s mood or the unknown quantity outside more. Phil stepped closer to him and put his arm around Clint’s shoulders. “Sorry Melinda,” he continued. “An unexpected visitor.”

“It’s okay,” Melinda said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I thought you should know. I’ll have Nick call you when we have more information.”

Clint shifted away just as the barn doors opened. Phil turned to acknowledge Steve’s return and to find out who had arrived. 

It wasn’t Steve. There, standing in the doorway of the barn was a young man wearing a ridiculous pair of mirrored sunglasses. He had an expensive leather jacket slung over one shoulder and he held what looked like a very pricy duffle bag with his other hand. His dark hair was artfully tousled, and he wore what looked like an authentic Aran sweater in a natural wool colour over a pair of designer khaki pants. The part of his face that was visible under the enormous shades showed even, smooth features, indicating that the boy would probably be very good-looking without the glasses. His shoes looked like they cost more than what Phil had made in a month as a detective. 

“So _here’s_ where we get to play cowboy,” the boy said, turning around as he gazed up at the rafters. Steve came in and the boy eyed him over the top of his glasses, then looked at Clint. He smirked. “So, who wants to ride me first?”

“Melinda,” Phil said, “I think we’ve found him.”

* * *

Phil stood in the living room, arms crossed, looking down at Tony. “Please take off those glasses.”

Tony was sprawled on the couch, both feet on the new (wood) coffee table, arms spread over the back like he owned the place. “Can’t,” he said. He made a vague gesture towards Natasha and Pepper who were standing on the far side of the room, backs to the half-wall that separated the living room from the kitchen. “I’m maintaining an air of mystery for the ladies.”

“I can’t see your eyes,” Phil said, “and it’s going to make this conversation more difficult than it needs to be. Please take them off,” he repeated. “I’m asking nicely.”

“And I’m refusing. Nicely,” Tony flashed a patently false smile.

“Is this really where you want to go with this?” Phil said with a sigh. “You want to draw a line in the sand about your sunglasses?”

Phil was keeping his voice even and his demeanour calm, but inside he was shaken. Tony had shown up completely unexpectedly, having apparently learned where he was going to be sent by Melinda and had decided – in apparently typical Stark fashion – to take matters into his own hands and arrive on his own time. It was a blatant show of disrespect for authority, and Phil knew that if he couldn’t gain Tony’s respect immediately, Natasha, Steve -- and especially Clint’s -- faith in him would be shaken. How could he keep them safe if he couldn’t control one unruly teenager? Phil knew he could physically cow Tony, but he never, ever wanted to resort to that. 

But, deep down, Phil knew he wasn’t ready for Tony. He’d gotten off easy with Natasha and the boys and he was out of the habit of having to assert his will. 

“You know what they say, old man,” Tony said sweetly. “Give ‘em an inch and they’ll take a mile.”

“They’re just sunglasses,” Clint said from where he was standing with Pepper and Natasha by the half-wall. “Why can’t you take them off?” He was still bare-chested and dusty from his work in the barn, and when Phil looked at him, he could see concern written plainly on his face. Clint hated conflict, and clearly he was already feeling like Phil wasn’t able to control it. 

“Why don’t you come take them off me?” Tony leered. “I mean, you’re half-naked already.” He sat up straighter. “Unless nakedness is a thing here at the O.K. Corral? Because I could totally get behind that.”

“You’re an idiot,” Natasha sneered at him, moving to stand in front of Clint. “Why don’t you go home, rich boy?”

“And here I thought that this quaint abode was going to be my new home-away-from! Was I wrong about _mi casa es su casa?_ ” Tony said with mock offence. He stood. “Well, I know when I’m not wanted on the voyage…”

“Tony, please. Sit down.” Phil said. 

Tony tilted his head. “And if I don’t?”

Phil tamped down his anger, knowing that showing his temper would only play into the boy’s hands. He opened his mouth to reply—

But Steve got there first. “ _Stop_ with your back-talking to Phil!” He pointed at Tony. “He’s worth ten of you!”

Tony slowly made his way around the coffee table and came to stand in front of Steve. “In what currency? Because the Canadian dollar’s taken a real hit recently—“

“You think you’re so great,” Steve snarled at him. “Rich kid with fancy clothes and a nice car. Take that away, and what are you?”

“Teenage playboy, trust-funded genius,” Tony shot back immediately. “And that nice car is actually an Audi R8 Spyder, for those playing along at home.” 

“I don’t give a damn about what kind of car you drive,” Steve said, moving more into Tony’s space. “And I don’t give a damn about you. You should do what Natasha said, and go home.”

“Steve!” Phil said warningly. 

“At least I have a home,” Tony smirked nastily. “You eat too many Wheaties and mommy kicked you out?” 

Steve’s face reddened. “You leave my mother out of this.”

“Tony!” Phil shouted, aghast. Neither Tony nor Steve looked at him. 

“Oh, is that a sore spot?” Tony stuck out his bottom lip. “Is big boy gonna cry?” He pushed against Steve’s chest with one hand.

Steve grabbed a fistful of Tony’s shirt.

Phil went to step in, but Tony had already used some kind of self-defense move, broken Steve’s grip and then smacked him hard enough in the chest that Steve stumbled backwards. He recovered quickly and shoved Tony back, making the other boy stumble. 

Tony came up swinging. His first hit caught Steve by surprise and Steve staggered. And then the fight was on. Steve dove at Tony, hitting him hard enough to send them both half-way across the room.

“Stop!” Phil yelled. He moved to get between the boys, but he was too far. Natasha however, wasn’t. She bolted past him in a streak of red. With a vicious cry she smacked into Tony and a sweep of her legs sent them both crashing to the floor, inches from hitting the back of the couch. She ended up on top, pinning his arms with her knees, both her hands gripping his collar. 

“Usually a girl has to buy me a drink first,” Tony wheezed. “But in your case Red, I’ll make an exception.”

“Steve is _mine!_ ” Natasha hollered at him. “Don’t you _dare_ hurt him!”

“He didn’t hurt me,” Steve said, coming to stand beside Natasha. “You hit harder than he does.”

“I’ll hurt _him_ if he ever makes a crack about Tash again.” Clint snarled. He hadn't run, which was a small positive.

“That’s _enough!_ ” Phil hollered, and was gratified that this time everyone actually stopped. He couldn’t believe how quickly everything had gotten out of control, and how long it’d taken him to regain it. He hadn’t felt this helpless since—well since he’d been on the wrong side of Loki’s gun. It was a feeling he’d hoped to never have to face again. “Natasha, let Tony up. Steve, Clint, back off. This is _not_ the way I expect you to deal with conflict.”

“He insulted you.” Steve glared at Tony as the other boy slowly got to his feet and sagged back onto the couch. 

“And I can handle being insulted,” Phil said. 

“But—“ Steve started.

“Tony’s mouth is the biggest thing about him,” Phil said. “I can handle him.”

“It’s not the biggest thing about me,” Tony said with a leer directed at Clint. “Hey, since you’re still half-naked—“ 

Clint took a step back. “I think I’ll go muck the horses.” He fled.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you,” Natasha snarled at him before turning away. “Come on, Pepper,” she said to the other girl who'd remained uncharacteristically silent. “Let’s go finish the saddles.”

“Is that really Tony Stark?” Pepper whispered to her as they both headed back outside. “I didn’t know he’d be so awful!”

“Oh that hurts!” Tony slapped his chest. “I’m wounded!” 

“You’ll be more than wounded—“

“Steve!” Phil shouted, “Go upstairs!”

“Fine,” Steve muttered, shooting Tony a poisonous glance as he stalked away.

“That’s one obedient lap-dog,” Tony said with false admiration as he put his feet back on the coffee table. “Do you think I could get one, too? But maybe in brown…” 

“Shut. Up.” Phil loomed over him. “You’ve come to _my_ house, _without_ an invitation, and you’ve proceeded to upset every single person that lives here. Including me. So, before I kick you out on your ass the way you so richly deserve, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”

“Tell you what,” Tony said as he stood. “I’ll make it easy for you.” He grabbed his jacket off the back of the couch, his bag from the floor and was out the door before Phil could even blink.

“ _Damn!_ ” Phil swore, immediately recognizing he’d blown it. He threw on his jacket and followed him outside.

* * *

Phil pulled the door open, ready to call after Tony. He shut his mouth with a snap. 

Pepper was outside, inspecting Tony’s car, and Tony was inspecting Pepper. 

“It’s an R8 GT Spyder,” Tony said smugly as he put his bag down on the driveway.

“So you said,” Pepper replied absently as she peered through the window to look at the steering column. “To be honest, I was expecting something a bit more…flashy.”

Tony blinked. “Flashy? Flashy! I’ll have you know this car is made of flash! It’s like the Barry Allen of Automobiles! It’s—“

“—Kind of practical for a sports-car, don’t you think?” Pepper said, turning to him. “I mean, _Car and Driver_ magazine likes it, but they described it’s steering as ‘telepathic,’ which sounds, well, kind of tame.”

Phil could see Tony’s surprise at her comment. “You read _Car and Driver?_ ” 

“Yes,” she replied easily. “How else would I know about the current trends in automobiles?”

“How else, of course,” Tony murmured. He moved around her so that he was leaning up against his car and blocking her view of the interior. He pulled out his keys and spun them around one finger. “But in the case of this car, the real deal is worth way more than a thousand words.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Wanna go for a spin?”

“Can’t,” Pepper sighed, “I’ve got chores to do.” 

Tony made a face. “Blow them off.” 

“No.” Pepper shook her head. “Phil pays me to work here. And besides, if I don’t do the work, the horses don’t get fed.” 

“They’ll be okay,” Tony wheedled. “Try it, you’ll like it.”

Pepper smiled. “I like meeting my responsibilities.”

“Sounds boring,” Tony said. 

“To someone like you, maybe,” Pepper said. 

“’To someone like me?’” Tony echoed, “What does that mean?”

“Oh, you know,” Pepper said, “A teenaged playboy trust-funded genius? I’m sure a guy like him has lots better things to do than meet his responsibilities.”

Phil found himself frowning as he listened to what Pepper was saying. He’d never heard her be so harsh before, and certainly never to one of the adopted kids. But Pepper was sixteen now, mature and whip smart. He leaned against the door, wanting to see where she was headed with this.

“Well, maybe I just like to pick and choose which responsibilities I meet!” Tony narrowed his eyes. “Trust me, when you get told what to do as often as I do—“

“Oh, I’m sure your life is extremely hard, what with all the people you have to do things for you. And let’s not forget the Stark technology that helps to run your life. And all that money!” She shook her head in mock sympathy. “So difficult.”

He crossed his arms. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Don’t I?” Pepper said. “Let’s see." She began to count on her fingers. "Built his first A.I. at thirteen, Graduated high-school at fourteen, accepted to M.I.T. where he wrote a seminal paper on scruffy logic systems in his first semester before thinking up the arc reactor technology that has the potential to power whole cities when it’s out of the developmental phase. Too bad about getting kicked out, though. You inherit Stark Industries at twenty-one, but until then you’ll do just fine with the trust fund that Maria Stark left you. Personal worth is counted somewhere in the twenty-five-billion dollar range, with a quarter of that from your A.I.-based inventions alone—“

“Either you’re my biggest fan or a really scary stalker,” Tony said. “Why do you know so much about me?”

“I’ve researched all the biggest CEOs of the United States,” Pepper said immediately. “Aldrich Killian, Justin Hammer, Norman Osborne…I plan on running my own multinational company someday. It seems prudent to learn from the best.”

Tony made a face. “You think Aldrich Killian is the best? Or _Justin Hammer_? They’re jerks!”

“Maybe.” Pepper shrugged. “But _they’re_ not afraid of hard work now, are they?”

“Ouch.” Tony winced, clutching his chest. “That…actually hurt.”

“Truth usually does,” Pepper said.

“But it’s not true!” Tony protested. “I’m not afraid of hard work!”

“Aren’t you?” She arched one strawberry blonde eyebrow. 

“No!” 

“I notice that you’ve got your bag with you,” Pepper continued, “Which says to me that you’re planning on leaving. I’m guessing it’s because staying here seems like it’d be too much trouble. You know, like work.”

“I’m leaving because Phil and his merry band of orphans suck,” Tony said. “I don’t know if you noticed, but two of them punched me within half-an-hour of my arrival! Two! Normally I don’t get jumped until at _least_ an hour has passed…”

“I noticed that you were being an asshole to them first,” Pepper said. “But I suppose being nice to people is too hard for you, too?”

“I can be nice!” Tony protested. “I’m made of nice! Nice is my middle name!”

“Your middle name is Edward,” Pepper said. “And I would’ve punched you too, if you’d been that rude to me.” 

“I’m only rude when the situation calls for it—“ Tony started.

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Use whatever excuse you want, Tony,” she said. “The truth is that it’s easier for you to run away than it is for you to stay here and tough it out.”

“I can tough it out,” Tony scoffed. 

“Farm work is hard,” Pepper said. “And Phil’s rules are very fair. But having rules is hard too. And living with three other kids who will call you out when you’re being an asshole is also hard.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not sure you’ll be able to take it.”

“I can take it,” Tony said. “What, you don’t think I can take it? I was born to take it!”

“I’m not so sure,” Pepper said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

“Wait!” Tony said, stopping her with a hand on her shoulder. “Wait.”

She turned. “Yes?”

“Even if—if I wanted to stay,” Tony said, and his voice was quiet enough that Phil found himself straining to hear, “I think the rest of the Brady Bunch have made it pretty clear I’m persona non grata.”

“I think you were working pretty hard to make sure they’d feel that way,” Pepper said. 

“Well, I guess it worked.” Tony ran a hand through his hair. “So, Athena, got any words of wisdom for that?”

“Be nice,” Pepper said. “I’ve seen the clips on YouTube. You can be charming when you want. Just be charming.”

Tony grinned. “Of course I can be charming! Charming’s my middle name!”

“Edward is your middle name.” 

“No, it’s definitely charming. Anthony Charming Edward Stark.” he smiled. 

“Well, Anthony ‘Charming’ Edward Stark.” Pepper said with an upward flick of her lips. “Are you going to stay?”

Tony made a show of looking around the outside. “Well, it is late in the day, and it’s at least a two-hour drive back to New York. And if I leave now, you’ll probably never get a chance to ride in my car, which would be a huge tragedy for you. So, no?”

“Good,” Pepper said. “So go tell Phil that you’re staying.”

Tony turned to Phil, making it clear that he’d known Phil’d been standing on the porch the whole time. “I’m staying!”

“I’m glad,” Phil said. 

“Go put your bag in your room,” Pepper ordered him, “and then you can come back and meet me.”

“And we’ll go for that spin?” Tony asked gleefully.

“And then you can help me feed the horses,” Pepper said. “I’ll be in the barn with Natasha. You can meet me there and apologize to her while you’re at it.” And so saying she headed off, but not before she met Phil’s gaze. He nodded his thanks at her. “Welcome,” she mouthed and disappeared into the barn. 

Tony picked up his bag and turned back towards the house.

“That girl is awesome,” Tony said to Phil as he went past him into the house. “I want one.”

“That _young woman_ is Pepper Potts,” Phil said as he followed Tony inside. 

“Well, that _young woman_ is going to be the future CEO of Stark Industries if I have anything to say about it. Which I do, because, well, Stark,” Tony said as he dropped his bag on the floor and sat on the couch. He looked at the coffee table. “So that’s where my sunglasses went.” 

“I’m glad you’ve decided to stay,” Phil said. 

“Yeah, well, Pepper’s pretty persuasive,” Tony said. “And really pretty. Anyway I’m not staying for you.”

“I get that,” Phil said. “And the reason why you’ve decide to stay for now isn’t an issue. The only thing that _will_ be an issue here, is if you continue to pick fights with the other children. Everyone here deserves to feel safe. Including you. If you tease, insult, make fun of or hurt them in any way, you will be disciplined. Those are the rules. Understand?” 

“Ooh,” Tony said seductively. “Disciplined! Do I get to keep my pants on or are we going all ‘British-boarding-school’ here?”

Phil smirked. “It’s a different, more subtle discipline. For example, do you have a phone?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “It’s a Starkphone.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled it out. “Why?”

Phil took it. “Because when you break the rules, you lose privileges. So I’ll be keeping this until you earn it back.”

“ _What?_ ” Tony howled, lunging for it. Phil easily evaded his grasp. Tony’s expression turned mutinous before it faded to a mere scowl. “Is this one of those ‘fair rules’ that Pepper was talking about?” He made air-quotes with his fingers.

“Yes.” 

“Fine, Napoleon. What do I need to do to get it back?” 

“Go for an entire week without making Steve or Natasha want to punch you in the face, and then we'll talk about it." Phil gestured towards the stairs. “Now, why don’t you go upstairs and put your stuff in your room and get settled.”

“Pepper wants me to help her with the horses.”

“Then you shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

Tony dutifully picked up his duffel and his coat and headed upstairs.

“Don’t forget your sunglasses,” Phil said. 

“Oh, yeah,” Tony said. He picked them up from the coffee table with his free hand. “Um, so.” he said, giving the sunglasses his full attention. “So. Um. You’re cool if I crash here.”

“This is your home, Tony.” Phil said softly. “No one is going to kick you out of here. I promise.”

“Yeah, sure.” Tony nodded, not quite meeting Phil’s eyes. “So, upstairs.” He headed up.

“Your room’s the second door on the right,” Phil called. “Right across from Steve’s.”

“Fantastic!” Tony called back. “That’s just _awesome._ ”

Phil closed his eyes.

* * *

“Thanks for making the trip out here,” Phil said as he handed Nick a beer and sat down across from him at the kitchen table. 

“Thanks for the invitation,” Melinda said, taking a sip of her beer. “And you know we always like coming out to see you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Nick snorted. “I wish the bastard had just bought a nice brownstone in Manhattan. Save us the travel time.”

Phil laughed. “I’ll bring the brood and come see you guys next time, promise.”

“It’s okay.” Melinda shot Nick a look. “Nick doesn’t mean it. He loves coming out here.”

“I do mean it,” Nick corrected. “But I also don’t want those three boys anywhere near my nice, neat house. You can bring Natasha though. Anytime.” 

“How was your Christmas?” Melinda asked. “I see your tree is still up.”

It was the second weekend in January and their Christmas decorations were still adorning the living room. “It was great,” Phil said. “The kids seemed to have a really good time and they certainly liked their presents. They say ‘thank you,’ by the way. And Clint promised he’d bake you something in appreciation for the cookware. I’m sure Steve will draw you something, too.”

“We got their email notes,” Melinda said. “They were very sweet.” 

“They’re sweet kids.” Phil smiled. “I’m very lucky.”

Nick was looking around the living room, his one good eye taking in everything. “Where are they, anyway? They can’t be here. It’s too quiet.”

“They’re not,” Phil agreed. “Thor and Jane took them into town to go skating. They’ll be home in time to join us for dinner.” 

“Oh thank God,” Nick said. “I was worried we’d have a quiet, kid-free meal.”

Melinda elbowed him. “Shut up.”

Phil pulled out his phone. “Pepper sent me pictures of them skating, if you want to see.”

Nick took the phone and held it so Melinda could see it. There was a selfie of Natasha and Pepper being photobombed by Tony; another photo of Clint skating around the ice, his only concession to the cold being his sweater, scarf and a pair of gloves; one of Thor and Jane kissing and holding hands and even a short video of Steve falling on his ass while he tried to gain his balance. 

“Cute.” Melinda smiled. “Clint sure has a problem with clothing, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Phil agreed. “It’s a good day when I can get him to keep his shirt on.” 

Nick laughed. “Steve may look like an athlete, but he performs like a goof.”

Melinda turned on him. “Nick!” 

“It’s true.” Phil gave a half-smile. “His health problems kept him isolated and indoors for most of his childhood, and then just as they were getting fixed, his mother died. He hasn’t had a lot of time for learning sports.”

“Well at least he’s got the chance now to go outside and play with the others.” Nick focused his eye on Phil. “How are they doing, anyway? You know, with each other?”

“Yes,” Melinda said, leaning forward. “I know it’s not a coincidence that you asked us to come early today, especially when you knew the kids would be gone.” 

Phil sighed. “There is something I wanted to talk to you both about,” he said. “Just to get your perspective.” 

“Shoot,” Nick said, taking a sip of his beer. “We’re not parents, but Melinda really seems to understand the little bastards.” 

Melinda rolled her eyes. “Remind me why I married you again?”

“My air of power and authority.” 

Phil laughed, then sighed. “It’s Steve.”

Nick sat back. “I am…actually surprised. I thought it’d be Tony.”

Phil nodded. “Well, Tony’s not the easiest, but he’s not the issue.” 

“What’s going on?” Melinda asked. 

“Remember how I told you about that massive fight that Natasha and Steve had way back in September?” 

“Yeah.” Nick nodded. He grinned. “Girl took him down. Damn I hope she wants to be a police officer when she’s older!” 

“Over my dead body,” Phil muttered. “But even though that fight was such a long time ago, the effects seem to have lingered.”

“In what way?” Melinda prompted.

“I guess, to put it simply, Steve seems lonely. Clint and Natasha are very close, and Tony and Pepper are actually forming a good friendship. Natasha obviously feels proprietary about Steve. And Clint and Tony get along well because Clint gets along with everybody, but Steve… Steve hasn’t really bonded with anyone.” 

“Are they fighting with him?” Melinda asked.

“No,” Phil replied. “He plays and jokes with the others, and he works with them with no problem. He’s even cordial with Tony, and they certainly got off on the wrong foot. But he doesn’t have a best friend here, and I think he’s lonely because of it.” 

“I have an idea that might help Steve, but it might make things worse.”

Nick shot her a look. “I thought you were going to wait to bring that up.”

“You mean bring _him_ up,” Melinda corrected him. “And yes, I was, but it might be as good a solution to Phil’s problem as any.”

“Phil’s right here,” Phil said. “Who are you talking about and what are you thinking?”

“There’s another boy that’s come to my attention,” Melinda said. “He’s currently with foster parents, but that relationship is failing, and as soon as they request a transfer for him, he’ll definitely qualify as ‘hard-to-place.’”

Phil frowned. “And how do you think he’d help?”

Melinda and Nick shared a look. 

“Cut out the ‘secret spy’ language, please,” Phil said. “I know you’re married and are therefore practically telepathic, but I’d appreciate you saying these thoughts out loud.”

“This child is a sixteen-year-old orphan who’s been in the system since he was six,” Melinda said. “And he’s been on the ‘hard-to-place’ list for nearly that entire time.”

“Why?” Phil demanded incredulously. “What could a six-year-old possibly do to make him hard to place for ten years?”

“It’s not what he _does_ , it’s what he _doesn’t_ do,” Nick said. “Talk. He doesn’t talk.”

Phil blinked. “Like, at all?” 

“Not a word,” Melinda said. “He hasn’t spoken since his parents died.”

“Was he injured?” Phil asked.

“Yes,” Melinda said. “He lost his left arm in the incident that killed his parents. But he had no other injuries that could explain his condition.”

“His not talking is a mental illness,” Nick added. 

“The medical term is selective mutism,” Melinda continued, “but normally it’s not this prolonged or this profound. But he hasn’t spoken in about ten years.”

“Wow,” Phil breathed. He looked at Melinda. “So I assume you’d like me to take him.” 

Melinda nodded. “We were hoping.” 

“And how do you think me taking a child with such a profound mental illness would help Steve’s loneliness?” Phil asked. “I’m not seeing—“

“This boy will need a lot of support,” Nick interrupted. “Melinda’s only given you part of the picture. But suffice to say, if you take him, everyone is going to have to work together to help. And he’ll definitely need a friend. Maybe Steve will step up.” 

Phil sat back. “This is a big decision,” he said. “I would really need to think about this before I made any kind of commitment.”

“I understand,” Melinda said. She slid a folder to Phil. “Here’s a copy of his file.”

Phil narrowed his eyes at her. “Most people don’t take work files with them for social events.”

“Most people don’t have jobs that keep them working twenty-four-seven,” Melinda said. “Plus, I’ve been wanting to speak with you about him for a while.”

“Well I’m so glad I gave you the opportunity,” Phil said dryly. 

“Just give it a read,” Melinda said with a roll of her eyes. “And as always, please feel free to call me with any questions. Maybe we can discuss it again in a couple of weeks?” 

“That sounds fair,” Phil said. He flipped over the first page of the file. “It’s pretty thick.” 

“Boy’s been through a lot,” Nick said. 

“Uh huh.” Phil looked at the first page. He glanced up at Melinda. “What’s his name?”

“James,” Melinda said. “James Barnes.”

 

_End of Part One_


End file.
